


Memoirs of a Prisoner

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Death, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV First Person, Porn With Plot, Prison, Prison Sex, Rape, Romance, Sexual Violence, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:51:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames and Arthur started out as two strangers locked in a prison cell together. Then things changed. Things always change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memoirs of a Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Wspomnienia pewnego więźnia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155136) by [Prus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prus/pseuds/Prus)



> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**
> 
> Warnings: M/M pairing, AU. **Triggers**. Prison isn’t a happy place. There will be mentions (in varying degrees of description) of violence, rape, death, and suicide.
> 
> Notes: I watched “Shawshank Redemption” the other day and really wanted to write an Inception AU prison story. I’m trying out a new perspective (first person) and a new writing style (what I’d call ‘snapshot’ writing), so we’ll see how it turns out.
> 
> And for anyone who doesn’t know, ‘screw’ is a term used when referring to guards etc. I’ve taken some creative liberty and haven’t done much research, so I apologize for any factual mistakes.

It started, technically, five years before.

 

I was thrown into jail with a life sentence on my head. I guess that’s what you get for trying to be a good friend when you’re friends with the wrong sorts of people. You see, my mate Jacob had been in a spot of trouble. This wasn’t unusual; we had been cleaning up each others’ messes since grade school. His mum knew my mum, which meant they thought we were destined to be friends forever. I guess that got ingrained somehow, which was why we had always watched one another’s backs. “Eames and Jacob, inseparable.” It didn’t have a ring to it, but that didn’t stop people from saying it.

 

He pulled me out of a puddle of my own vomit when I discovered alcohol, and I broke his attacker’s nose when Jacob didn’t learn how to shut his damned mouth. He saved me from getting hooked on heroin, even if he didn’t mean to. Jacob actually stole the needle for himself, the selfish bastard. But when I saw what it did to him, I was still thankful. That was why I figured I owed him when he called me late one night, jittery and crying.

 

He told me his girlfriend, some bimbette that went by the name of Violet, was fucking some manager bloke at her work. He told me he had seen them at it, like two horny rabbits with no shame, he had said. Jacob hadn’t been crying because he was sad. He had been crying with his rage. He asked me to come with him to scare this bastard off, and I agreed.

 

Really, that’s all it was supposed to be. Just a few words of warning and maybe a few marks that would make the message last. That was it. But when I arrived at the address Jacob had given me and shouldered the door, which had been resting ajar, open, I stumbled onto a scene I hadn’t been prepared for. There was blood. There was blood everywhere. I could barley recognize Violet – having only seen her once or twice before – as she lay crumpled with bullet holes. The ‘manager bloke’ was in a similar state on the floor beside her. To this day I don’t know if they were actually fucking or whether they were just friends – their clothes had been on.

 

I found Jacob standing there, standing over their bodies. He had a gun in his hand, his whole body trembling, and he kept staring at them. The blood was blooming across the shaggy white carpet, like spilled paint. I remember wondering, a little out of my head with shock and mounting fear, why anyone would risk buying a white carpet.

 

Then Jacob had shoved the gun into my hand, eyes wide and unseeing.

 

Then Jacob had run for the back door, knowing the layout of the house better than I did.

 

Then the police sirens sounded outside.

 

I was understandably furious during the following legal proceedings. I had always been told that the law was there to keep the good guys safe and the bad guys locked up. Even though the law and I hadn’t always seen eye to eye, we had mostly left one another alone. But now I was the one being locked in handcuffs, stripped naked and hosed down, and marched to the prison cell I would be calling home for the rest of my life. No one had listened to me when I said I hadn’t done it. Even my lawyer had given me a hopeless look, willing to try but knowing there was too much evidence stacked up against me.

 

And where was Jacob? Fuck if I knew. Not prison, at least.

 

My prison mate was huge, scarily so. I was still in my early twenties at that point; still young. I had committed my fair share of crimes in my youth, but they were petty. I was being put where the murderers slept. I’m very muscular and can hold my own in a fight – experience will do that to you. I had the arrogance to back myself up out in the world, but here inside these prison walls, I knew immediately that I was a small fish in a big sea. Literally speaking in terms of the man sprawled on the top bunk when a screw shoved me into my cell.

 

He had given one look at me and I knew I’d have to fight. Not right away – the man seemed almost lazy with his power – but sometime. That time, as it turned out, was after lights out on my first night in prison.

 

I heard the mattress above me groan before he slid off the top bunk, towering over me while I lay on my back. “Rex,” the man stated his name like it was a privilege for me to know. “What’s your name?”

 

I honestly hadn’t known what to do as I lay there, trying to hide how tense I was – expecting a fight. I was going to be in here for the rest of my life, I had to remind myself. It’s not like I could make a ton of enemies and waltz out the next day. This wasn’t jail after a night of public drunkenness. I could play friendly and obedient and hope what Rex wanted wasn’t more than what I was willing to sacrifice. Or I could fight someone who knew they held power, even if I didn’t know the prison hierarchy yet. I might get lucky, or I might wind up dead.

 

I still held some weak belief that someone would notice their error, would realize Jacob was the one who should be lying on this musty mattress. So I decided to go with friendly. “Eames,” I offered, making sure I didn’t sound as shit scared as I felt.

 

Without preamble he had gripped my hair, as short as it was, and yanked me off the bed. With his other hand, he had shoved down his prison pants to expose a half hard and, to be quite frank, rather ugly prick. “You’re going to suck this like you enjoy it, Eames,” he whispered to me so no one else in the cellblock could hear, “and I’ll make your time in here a little more bearable.”

 

My eyes were watering with how tightly he was gripping my hair, and even though I struggled against him, I knew I didn’t have the leverage to fight him off. So I allowed my lips to part, allowed him to slip that ugly thing into my mouth.

 

And then I bit down as hard as I fucking could.

 

He tried to dislodge me, tearing hair from my scalp. The rancid taste of sweat and coppery blood filled my mouth, and then I felt Rex’s fist slam against my jaw. The first hit was a mistake, as it forced my jaw to clench at the pain and my teeth to finally slide through the flesh and cartilage. I spit the useless flesh out then, vomiting a second later at the mere thought of what I had just done. And then his fist hit again, shattering my cheekbone.

 

Hits continued to rain down on my body wherever Rex could reach, even though I couldn’t understand how he could do anything with that much pain. The screws came shortly thereafter with the ruckus, though by that point I’m sure I was close to dead with the beating I had taken. I don’t remember what happened after they arrived because I passed out with a severe concussion.

 

When I woke up, I spent the next month and a half in the infirmary.

 

When I had healed, I had spent two weeks in solitary confinement.

 

When I returned to my cell, it had been cleaned and I had an anxious young thing huddled up on the top bunk. His name was Nathan and he kept to himself, so I kept to myself. I don’t know what happened to Rex.

 

When I returned to the ‘general public’ of the prison, I can assure you that no one ever tried to fuck with me.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It really started when Arthur arrived.

 

Nathan had been transferred to a different prison. The kid had seemed perfectly normal for the five years we had shared a cell. Well, as normal as a twenty year old who poisoned his family’s dinner with arsenic could be, I suppose. He was a loner by nature and mostly stayed to the shadows, happy that no one really noticed him. I had no interest in forcing on him what had been forced on me, so I left him alone. We had developed some odd sort of companionship in the sense that we lived in the same tiny space, which I was very grateful for in the end.

 

It meant I wasn’t the one he decided needed their throat slit when he got his hands on a kitchen knife.

 

Needless to say, he got sent off – probably to the psych ward – and I had an empty cell for nearly a week.

 

By that point I had been in prison for five years and two months. I had mostly given up on the thought of errors being corrected, and on the elusive thought of freedom. After the stunt that I pulled – and the fact that I survived the retaliation – I had been free to move around in the prison. A few of Rex’s friends had cornered me shortly after I returned from solitary, but I was glad for that. It gave me the chance to prove I could do damage with more than just my teeth. I was outnumbered three to one, but it was clear the guys didn’t have much fighting experience. They all ended up in the infirmary with serious injuries. I walked out with a broken nose, twisted wrist, and a black eye.

 

I didn’t want to be the alpha dog in the prison; the alpha dog got challenged by every prick who thought he was important. I didn’t end up being the alpha dog, but people had learned that I would fight back if provoked. They had also learned that I could be perfectly civil if left alone. I made a few friends here and there, some of the guys I worked with on the days we did hard outdoor labour, as well as one of the doctors, Yusuf, and female nurse, Ariadne, in the infirmary since I was there so often. It’s not like you ever really enjoyed prison, but the guys made it more bearable. We all watched out for one other when some new asshole appeared on the scene and decided to prove himself by beating someone up.

 

I was also lucky enough to make friends with a few of the guards. Not sure I could tell you how, to be honest. I didn’t exactly enjoy interacting with the screws; their power had gone to their heads. But here and there I’d subdue a fight before it escalated; not because I wanted to help out the guards, but because I had grown rather weary of conflict. Other times I just had the information they needed, or had the right joke on my lips to make their day a little less dull.

 

When Arthur arrived, he didn’t speak. I was sprawled out on my bottom bunk glancing over a magazine Jimmy had illegally obtained for me. The screw who brought my prison mate down to my cell, which was right at the end of the block, was one of the ones who liked me – or at least didn’t hate me like most guards hated the prisoners. Hell, I only knew Arthur’s name that first evening because Calvin said it before nudging the lanky stick of a thing past the wall of bars. Calvin sent me a warning look for the magazine, as well as to probably tell me not to kill the new kid, but left without another word.

 

“I’m Eames,” I had offered lightly, not bothering to get up from my uncomfortable mattress. I’m still not sure why I felt the urge to introduce myself – I had never taken particular measures to uphold proper manners before. But I did this time, and although Arthur glanced over at me for a long moment, he didn’t say anything in return before dumping his stuff and climbing up to the top bunk. I didn’t say anything else, expecting that he probably wanted to be left alone. The first night in prison was the hardest, and I knew there was nothing I could say to make it any easier.

 

From the brief look I had gotten, I had guessed Arthur was in his early twenties; he looked the way I did when I found myself in prison five years prior. Except he was incredibly slim while I had managed to keep my muscles with all of the prison work. I would have been a little concerned about the youth surviving in prison – even with the brief glimpse I could tell Arthur hadn’t fought much with his fists. But those dark brown eyes, however shadowed with disbelief and fear, were still sharp with independence and determination.

 

After lights out I set my magazine under my bed and lay down on my back, staring up at the mattress above me. I could hear Arthur shifting around occasionally, searching for a comfortable spot on the mattress he would eventually learn didn’t exist. I heard other new prisoners crying and whimpering in their cells, and veteran prisoners egging them on.

 

I strained my ears, but I didn’t hear a single sniffle from Arthur that first night.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It changed when Arthur decided I was worth talking to.

 

In the morning of Arthur’s first official day in prison, I woke ten minutes before morning roll call. It had been hardwired into my system by now, but I could tell by the even breathing above me that Arthur had no intention of waking from his restless sleep. I dragged myself off my mattress and spent a few minutes stretching out my tired muscles; it was always harder getting out of bed the day after hard labour.

 

As the time to be up and out of your cell approached, I turned back to the beds and took a firm grip on Arthur’s shoulder, shaking it forcefully. Arthur’s eyes snapped open immediately, brown eyes losing their sleepy haze in a flash. I felt Arthur’s hand grip my own tightly enough that it hurt, even though his hand was so much smaller; the kid had nails that he hadn’t lost in hard labour yet. I winced and pulled away as Arthur turned towards me more fully, fire dancing in his eyes. “You aren’t forcing me to do anything,” he hissed warningly, like a cornered wild animal ready to strike.

 

“I wasn’t going to force you to do anything!” I snapped back, furious that my rare show of kindness was being taken so poorly. After all, it’s not like everyone handed you a guidebook and a hug on your first day. I kept my voice low so that we wouldn’t draw attention, and lifted my hand to inspect the half moon crescents Arthur had dug into the skin there. “I was making sure you were up for morning roll call or you’ll get your arse handed to you by a screw.”

 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me, wondering if I was telling the truth or just biding my time. “The fuck do you care?” he eventually asked, smart enough to keep his voice to a whisper.

 

“They expect cellmates to keep each other in line so they have less work to do,” I explained, still wondering why I had even bothered myself. The screws liked me enough that I probably wouldn’t get a beating for Arthur’s insolence. “One cellmate fucks up, both pay for it. And when you’re not looking for any trouble, you should guess people are pretty willing to keep others in line.”

 

Arthur didn’t say anything in response to that. He just stared at me like I was some puzzle that could eventually be solved, which pissed me off more. So I turned my back to him and proceeded to change into my set of work clothes for the laundry. As stupid as it sounded to give someone like me a job at the laundry on the days I wasn’t outside breaking and moving rocks, they actually needed someone with muscles. The sodden material could be surprisingly heavy.

 

The whistle for roll call sounded a minute or so later, and the metal cell door slid to the side automatically. I stepped out and took my place, not glancing back to see if Arthur was following me. When I stole a few swift glances around my section of the cellblock, a few of my friends caught my eye; they knew I had received a new cellmate, but their curiosity would have to wait until breakfast. I kept looking around and eventually spotted two other new faces – one on the first floor and the other on the second floor like me. One man’s face was red and tear stained, though he stood silent. The other had a bruised eye and a split lip.

 

A guard began walking down the centre of the first floor, calling out names as they saw prisoners. My shoulders tensed, knowing they would notice Arthur’s absence immediately. And then Arthur was suddenly standing by my shoulder, looking straight ahead. He glided out of the cell like he was walking into a business meeting, and I felt my teeth grind together. “Unless you want to get bent over something and fucked, I’d suggest you drop the pretentious strut,” I suggested, words buried quietly in my breath.

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Arthur’s gaze flicker over to me before looking straight forward again. He didn’t say anything in return, and his body remained stiff and unyielding. All I could do is mentally shrug as the guard called our names and numbers out, and then headed back to the centre of the block. I had done my part – more than what was expected, actually – and the rest was up to Arthur.

 

He didn’t actually speak to me again for over a week. He kept to himself, which I could understand; you usually spent your first few weeks in prison doing some serious soul searching bullshit, wondering why you were here and what you’d do if you couldn’t get out. I left him to it because life continued on like nothing changed. That’s how prisons are, a monotonous routine of hard work and too much time to think about your guilt. Even if you were wrongly accused, like me, you were still given enough time to think of _something_ to feel guilty about.

 

Arthur ate meals by my side but didn’t speak. He had probably realized that I was the safest bet with my lack of interest in shoving my cock past his pretty lips and my general status in the prison. Don’t get me wrong, I had definitely wanked to the thought of that porcelain face taking my prick more than once – you can’t blame a man for taking an interest in novelty. But after my first night in prison, knowing what it felt like to be so utterly powerless, I wasn’t horny enough to abandon my hand for that.

 

I had introduced him to my friends on the third day, when it seemed obvious he was going to stick around and survive long enough to do so. He had said his awkward, quiet hellos and then fallen silent again, pushing food around on his plate. After that my friends didn’t really acknowledge him, recognizing he was going to be a silent entity for a while. Prison did things to people and we weren’t to judge what was normal.

 

I still don’t know what finally got Arthur to talk to me. Maybe his curiosity had been building. Maybe he realized I was as safe as I was acting – no hidden agenda. Maybe he had just gotten so sick of silence and needed to hear some words slip past his lips. It was a week and two days after Arthur arrived when he spoke. Evening roll call had been completed and the prison bars closed snugly, though there was still another hour where they left a few lights on for people to read books borrowed from the pathetically small prison library.

 

I was lying on my bed with an arm flung over my eyes, wishing they’d turn off the bloody lights already. My body was aching and sore from a fistfight I had gotten into before dinner, when some cocky new prisoner in a different cellblock had decided he wanted _my_ pack of cigarettes, rather than work to get his own. The man had to be at least twenty years my senior – a business man used to getting everything he wanted, if I guessed correctly. But he had still managed to give me a shiner before I got him out of commission and sent to the infirmary.

 

“I saw you beat that guy up this afternoon,” a disembodied voice above me suddenly stated. Arthur was still on his bed based on the sound of his voice, and I had no interest in getting up.

 

“Yeah, so?” I bit off tiredly. “Going to tell me I was wrong? Teach me the error of my ways?” I really didn’t have the patience to deal with someone lecturing me right now, let alone some snot-nosed kid who thought he didn’t need friends in prison.

 

There was a long pause of silence, which perked my interest against my will. “No,” Arthur said eventually. “I understand that you need to display your strength and power once in a while in here.”

 

My eyebrows rose in surprise beneath my forearm. I shifted, feeling a little uncomfortable, and tried to remind myself that this was the first time Arthur had started a conversation with me on his own. “What of it?” I asked.

 

“Just wondering if your eye hurt as badly as it looked.” I could hear the nonchalance in my cellmate’s tone; he nearly sounded bored, as though this was the only topic he could think of discussing.

 

I couldn’t help but laugh. It was nowhere close to concern, and yet it was the closest I had heard in over five years. “Don’t you worry about me; I’ve had much worse over the years.” Arthur didn’t respond to that, and even though it was approaching the lights out, I found myself more awake. “Have you ever been in a fight, Arthur?”

 

At first I thought Arthur might have fallen asleep; he didn’t respond for at least five minutes and I had already given up on a continued conversation. Then I heard the mattress above me creak and the sound of feet grabbing purchase on the cold metal ladder. I removed my arm just in time to see Arthur coming to stand over my bed, looking down at me. I felt a flash of nerves and adrenaline at Arthur’s positioning before I forced it away; my cellmate’s posture wasn’t particularly threatening. “Once,” Arthur offered.

 

I honestly wasn’t sure what to do with this conversation. “Is that why you’re in here?” I heard myself asking.

 

I got a glimpse of his smirk just before lights out. When Arthur spoke next, I could only see the silhouette of his form standing over me with the emergency lighting on the floor below. “You think I’m in here because I got in a fight and killed some guy?”

 

“Did you?” I asked neutrally; everyone had a story in here.

 

“Not directly.” The smirk was still in Arthur’s voice. “I just happen to be very good at collecting illegal information that occasionally _leads_ to someone dying.”

 

“Ah, I see,” I whispered airily, indulging his moment of confidence shining through. “So why did you start getting involved with such a hobby as that?”

 

There was a long moment of silence where I could tell Arthur was giving me a hard look. And then the humour was back in his voice. “What makes you think I just started? Maybe I’m just better than you at not getting caught.” Before I could think of some witty comeback, Arthur had taken to the ladder again and returned to his own bed. I didn’t bother hiding the smirk on my own lips, knowing there was no one there in the darkness to see and judge it.

 

After that we began to talk more. Arthur had different hard labour days than me, and different jobs other days. But Arthur continued joining my table of friends at meals – even joining in on conversation occasionally. The guys had mixed feelings about him; some enjoyed the witty banter requited to keep up with the kid’s intelligence, while others grew frustrated with it. But they accepted him nonetheless. Dominic seemed to take a particular liking to him, which I’ll admit, had me a little annoyed. Dom was always raving about this beautiful French woman waiting for him on the outside. We still don’t know if he’s around the bend or not, but the way I see it, if he has someone like that then the least he could do is not encroach on my new friend.

 

We also began to talk more out in the yard and in our cell for the hour we had before lights out. By the end of the day you were usually pretty exhausted from work and the long hours, so we both just sprawled out on our respective beds and discussed whatever useless shit came to mind. Arthur’s tongue and mind were sharp, and it was good fun trying to keep up with him. Here and there we’d accidentally admit something personal about ourselves – a story from outside the prison walls, or a hobby the prison couldn’t support. But neither of us really seemed to mind.

 

Our conversations made the days a little less dull.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It changed when Arthur was raped.

 

It happened nearly two months after Arthur arrived. At first the timing seemed odd to me, but then when I thought about it, it made sense. The bastards had waited to see if I would claim Arthur for myself. As much as they wanted a new toy, they were unwilling to step on many toes to get it.

 

I was already lying in bed, the last roll call done and the lights soon to be extinguished. Arthur still hadn’t returned, which would worry me if he hadn’t informed me he was being taken out for the day with another small group. They were apparently being taken out to help with some landscaping grunt work for a nearby farmer; one of the prison’s attempts to make prisoners look like less of a burden to society. But even though he told me this, and I knew there was a reason for his late arrival, I still found myself unable to relax.

 

The sound of the metal bars sliding back and then returning to their properly place caught my attention. I didn’t move or open my eyes, not wanting to appear as though I had been worrying. At first there was no sound of movement, and then I heard slow, stumbling steps towards the bed. Arthur didn’t speak, and I assumed he was tired from work, so I didn’t speak either.

 

I tracked my cellmate’s movements across the tiny distance to the bed. I heard him pause at the ladder, kick off his shoes, and then one foot fight for purchase on the metal rung. I knew something was wrong when that was immediately followed by a pained gasp before the acidic smell of vomit painted the corner of our cell.

 

It was at that point that I opened my eyes and rose on one elbow to see what was going on. I swallowed so hard it hurt when I saw that the seat of Arthur’s work pants were stained with blood. Not as worse, but still just as concerning, I quickly noticed the droplets of blood pattered on our concrete floor, showing my cellmate’s path.

 

It was only when he turned away from the corner that I could see the rest. Arthur’s face was smeared with blood from his nose, lips, and a cut on his temple. There were handprint-shaped bruises forming on his neck and left cheek. His hair was out of place from where it had been grabbed, and I had no doubt that many more cuts and bruises tarnished the pale skin below his baggy work clothes.

 

Arthur saw me looking and hesitated for a long moment, swaying on his feet. Then he waddled towards me at a pathetically slow pace, his legs bowed in a useless attempt to decrease the pain I could only imagine he felt. I wasn’t sure what to do as he hovered over me, looking like death warmed over, and I eventually shuffled closer to the wall. A part of me knew I should get off the mattress entirely, but the thought of leaving Arthur alone after something like this had me staying. I would only leave when he told me to.

 

“I can’t climb the ladder,” Arthur said hesitantly, as though he needed to explain himself.

 

“It’s okay, darling,” I reassured him. I only realized I used the pet name sometime later after the adrenaline had left my body. Arthur never reacted to it. “You can sleep here tonight. I... I won’t do anything,” I added when I noticed his guarded look. Arthur watched me for a long time; I don’t even know how he managed to remain standing for so long. But then he gripped the bed frame with bloody fingers and slowly inched himself down onto my mattress. He swatted my offered hand away, so I just pressed myself harder against the wall to make more room and watched helplessly.

 

A pained sob escaped those lips as Arthur bent forward to crawl onto the bed and eventually lie on his stomach. I moved my pillow under his head and then lay there, watching shuddering breaths shake my cellmate’s body as he tried to keep from crying and to overcome the pain.

 

The last thing I saw before lights out was Arthur turning his head on the now-bloody pillow to watch me. Just as a distant call was heard and darkness pressed in on us, Arthur began to cry. I could imagine those fresh tears sliding down Arthur’s face, washing away blood. But I had also seen Arthur’s eyes as they began to well up.

 

I knew that they were not tears of shame, even though Arthur’s cheeks had been tinted pink with embarrassment. They were tears of fury.

 

“Who was it?” I tried to ask calmly, although my voice was far from calm.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur sniffled, trying to stay strong. I knew he was probably getting angry at himself for crying on top of everything else. I wished I knew how to make him believe he was allowed to be upset.

 

“Of course it matters!” I snapped, feeling my anger rise. Even though I wasn’t touching a single inch of Arthur’s body, I still felt him flinch at my sharp tone. I bit my lip, immediately back-pedalling. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you. But I need to know who did this to you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To make them fucking well pay, that’s why!” I hissed, knowing we had to be quiet but barely able to contain myself.

 

“I will not be the little boy who needs you to protect me, Eames!” Arthur shot back, his voice wavering as he grew more agitated. More tears fell. “I’ve been managing fine up until now; I’ll deal with it.”

 

“Managing up until now?” I repeated, ice rushing through my veins. How long had this been going on? Why had no one told me? Arthur remained silent. “Arthur!”

 

“It hasn’t been that physical before. They approached me shortly after I arrived but I fought them off each time. It would only be verbal taunts and a few bruises under my clothes.” Arthur began crying harder, muffling the sound in my pillow.

 

“Bloody fucking hell,” I cursed under my breath. I wanted to be out in the hard labour field where I could chuck and smash a few rocks. I didn’t want to be here, listening to Arthur trying to quieten himself like he was acting out of place. “Who was it?”

 

“Eames--”

 

“ _Who_?”

 

Silence hung between us. I could hear quiet murmurs and snores in other parts of the cellblock. “Vince,” Arthur confessed, “And his guys.”

 

“Did they all touch you?” I questioned, feeling a headache coming on with how tightly I was clenching my teeth.

 

“No, just Vince.” I heard Arthur try to move and then whimper, falling back to his previous position. “The others just shouted at me and kept me from getting away.”

 

I let a long breath out of my body, trying and failing to calm myself down. I was furious; beyond furious, actually. Arthur had been a damned good cellmate over the last few months, and I made sure to watch over my friends. That trait hadn’t died, even with Jacob’s betrayal. Oddly, even though this was obviously known to happen in prison, I felt as though I had let Arthur down.

 

I couldn’t even comprehend how Arthur was still controlling himself the way he was. I hadn’t spoken for nearly a week after I taught Rex I didn’t bottom without wanting to. And yet Arthur was answering my questions – albeit a little reluctantly and through tears – as though I was asking about the weather. What Arthur had experienced was so much worse than my experience.

 

“Okay...” I whispered, more to remind Arthur I was still there and hadn’t disappeared. “Okay, we need to get you to the infirmary.” A plan was forming in my head as I spoke, and I began pulling myself off the end of the mattress. I would gain a floor warden’s attention by shouting and banging on the bars. I didn’t care if I got a beating for the disturbance. I just needed someone there to take care of Arthur.

 

A cold, clammy hand encircled my wrist quickly and stilled me before I could get off the mattress. I didn’t fight Arthur’s grip because I feared jostling him. “No!” Arthur managed to make his hushed, broken voice sound dangerous in the dark.

 

“You need to get your wounds checked over,” I reminded him. “And you need to get cleaned and tested. There’s no telling what that bastard might have.” The hand holding my wrist in a vice grip began to tremble.

 

“I don’t want everyone to know,” Arthur argued weakly. I could understand that, so for the moment I relented. I would get a warden the next morning when they came to see why Arthur wasn’t out for roll call. I didn’t ask if Arthur wanted me to move to the top bunk. It didn’t even occur to me, actually. But he didn’t mention it either, so I lay back down on the tiny remaining space of mattress.

 

Arthur didn’t sleep that night. I know because I didn’t sleep either. My friend continued to sniffle and whimper each time he moved, but I couldn’t think of anything useful to say. It was only hours later, when I was pretending to be asleep, that Arthur was overtaken by muffled sobs of hopelessness and defeat.

 

That was when I decided I had to do something.

 

The next morning my eyes were burning with exhaustion when the lights flickered on and the cell doors slid open. Arthur had fallen into a fitful sleep at some point, but I had been up all night making my plans. I left Arthur to sleep when they shouted for roll call, joining the end of the row of prisoners alone.

 

Dom noticed Arthur’s absence – only a few cells down from us – and narrowed his eyes in confusion. I gave my head the tiniest of shakes – _not now_ – and faced forward again. It didn’t take long for the guard to notice Arthur’s empty space, and even less time for two floor wardens to reach our cell after that.

 

I waited until they passed by me to turn and speak quietly to the guard standing in the doorway. It was Calvin, the guard I got along with best when there was profit for both of us. “Vince raped him last night,” I explained, making sure my voice only carried far enough for the screws to hear. “I want him taken to the infirmary.” My voice turned malicious, “And I want Vince re-educated.”

 

“What do you care?” Calvin raised an eyebrow, sending a wave over my head to the chief warden to allow the other prisoners to breakfast. Soon we were alone.

 

“He’s my investment, which makes him your investment as well,” I whispered. I slipped my wad of stolen and earned money from my palm to his shirt’s breast pocket while the other screws worked at rousing Arthur. I had been saving that money for an emergency; if I ever needed to trade for something big or rare. But I didn’t give it a second thought as I watched Arthur drag himself off the bed with a choked-off sob.

 

“You sure have odd tastes,” Calvin rolled his eyes before touching a hand to the hidden money, silently promising to do as I asked.

 

I didn’t bother correcting him. I didn’t bother explaining that Arthur was just a friend and that I had no intention of fucking him. The more people who falsely believed I was interested, the more seriously people would take my claim. The safer Arthur would be.

 

Shortly after Arthur was settled down in the infirmary, Vince was sent to solitary confinement.

 

One week after that, Vince left solitary confinement. Calvin and two other guards were waiting for him in his cell. Later that day, we watched Vince get taken away in an ambulance, his spine broken. We never saw him again. Vince’s guys never came near me or Arthur again.

 

Arthur was still in the infirmary.

 

Two weeks after the incident, Arthur returned back to the prison in time for lunch. He didn’t speak to anyone, and no one forced him into polite conversation. After lunch we were both sent out to the yard, one of the match-ups in our routines.

 

Arthur was still limping slightly, and he sat slowly when we took a bench by the electric fencing. He told me that there was no permanent damage, and no diseases or infections. I was barely able to contain my relief.

 

In response to this news, I asked Arthur if he trusted me. Arthur let out a humourless chuckle, his eyes flashing with suspicion. “What do you have in that mind of yours?” He asked me. I only repeated my question: did he trust me. Arthur gave a reluctant shrug, not meeting my eye. “I suppose I have to trust someone.”

 

With that established, I gripped Arthur’s arm and shoulder tightly and sealed my mouth over his neck. I could feel his pulse flying with fear against my tongue as Arthur no doubt experienced flashbacks. I knew I might be making a huge mistake and just making things worse, but I could think of nothing else. So I held him in place as he fought me, sucking and biting a hickey onto his neck. When I pulled away, I knew the mark would last for at least a week.

 

I let Arthur go and he rightfully punched me in the nose before storming away. At dinner, everyone saw the new mark and knew it had to be mine. Arthur didn’t speak to me for two weeks after that, even though I’m pretty sure he realized what my plan was and why it couldn’t wait.

 

I didn’t care. I wouldn’t have cared if Arthur never talked to me again after that. All that mattered was that no one ever touched him again.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It changed when I walked in on Arthur jerking off.

 

Ever since I felt Arthur’s pulse on my lips, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but it had become a prominent subject for my fantasies when I found I had the cell to myself. The feel and taste of his smooth skin on my lips and tongue, and weathered between my teeth. I thought of other things as well; all the things I could do with the rest of that porcelain body. But the fantasies based on reality are always the strongest. Always the sharpest in your mind’s eye.

 

A few weeks after I had first claimed Arthur, he had finally sat down alone with me in the yard and said thanks. I brushed the gratitude aside, knowing I would do it again in a heartbeat. An awkward moment of expectation followed that, but neither of us said anymore on the topic so we went back to being friends.

 

As the weeks and months continued to pass, Arthur grew stronger and healthier. It took a long time, but with proper care and rigorous exercise, Arthur was back to his strong, limber, flexible self. It made me smile, though I never let him see it. Even though Arthur had rarely allowed any indication of his pain to show during recovery, it was nice to see him able to stop pretending.

 

I marked Arthur once a month. It wasn’t strictly necessary considering the fact that it would be explained to any new prisoner moronic enough to think he could take what he wanted. I honestly don’t know if Arthur didn’t know it wasn’t necessary. But after the first time, he never fought me. And if, over the months my markings grew softer – more sucking and licking and less biting – Arthur never commented.

 

It had been awkward though, the second time. Arthur had only just thanked me and started acknowledging my existence again. Truly, I was a little scared of pushing the boundaries too far and losing my friend. But the memory and desire were strong, so I decided to try anyway.

 

Arthur had been lounging on his mattress, taking advantage of the time before lights out. He was reading a book called “Dante’s Inferno”. Fitting for a prison read, he had told me once. I shuffled in after a long day. My cellmate had given me a nod but otherwise remained focused on his reading. I remained standing, feeling somewhat out of place until Arthur grew annoyed. He huffed and set his bookmark before turning to me. “What?”

 

“I need to mark you again,” I explained solidly, hoping Arthur didn’t know otherwise.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah...”

 

“Well...” Arthur bit his lip. I tracked the movement dutifully. “Okay, how do we do this?”

 

I made sure to hide my nerves and excitement. “Whatever way you’re comfortable with,” I offered. I didn’t want Arthur to associate anymore force or flashbacks with me.

 

I watched with legitimate shock as Arthur carefully pulled himself off his own bunk and eased himself onto my own. I hadn’t expected it to be this easy, even if Arthur did understand the purpose of my claim. I didn’t rush to him though, after he lay back with his head on my new pillow. I didn’t want to scare him, but I also didn’t mind watching Arthur’s slow, precise movements.

 

When I looked closer I could see the nerves and uncertainty he was trying to hide. “Just...don’t hold me down,” Arthur demanded, voice wavering but still strong.

 

“Okay,” I agreed, still standing in place. I wasn’t going to argue with what was being given to me.

 

When I didn’t move from my spot, Arthur rolled his eyes. “Anytime, Eames.” He seemed to borrow strength in acting superior to me. Then he smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re shy.”

 

What did Arthur expect from me? I had been in prison for about five and a half years. My sexual experiences in here had started with a prick being forced into my mouth. It wasn’t for another two years after that when I had taken a lover – or whatever you called it in here. We had worked the same late shift at the laundry on Saturdays. We were the last to turn off the machines and lights, so sometimes we’d steal a bit of frantic pleasure behind a work bench. You had to get off somehow, and you had to make sure you didn’t become too fond of your hand.

 

But Mark, about five years my senior, had eventually been transferred for bad behaviour. He had always been something of a loose cannon; I was probably lucky he didn’t slice my neck one night while I was fucking him into the cement. At the time it had heightened my senses. Now I could only shake my head at my stupidity.

 

After Mark, I hadn’t taken anyone. I had a position to maintain, and I couldn’t afford any weaknesses. When you grew attached to people, others could use them against you. On top of that, I was picky even though prison really isn’t the place to be like that. Here and there I’d take a blowjob offer from some new prisoner looking to make friends and survive. But that had stopped when Arthur arrived, though when I thought back on it, I couldn’t pinpoint a particular reason behind this. Either way, it had just been me and my hand for a while by that point.

 

Yet here Arthur was, sprawled on my bed like he belonged there. His hair and clothes were rumpled, his cheeks a little pink and his eyes sharp. They were flashing with anxiety, which I wasn’t exactly happy with. But it was nice to see them anything but the dull they had been after the attack.

 

I could feel my body stirring with desire, which I tried to push aside as I moved towards the bed. When I sat on the bed, the mattress dipped below my weight, causing Arthur to unwillingly roll towards me slightly. I noticed that he didn’t correct the positioning. I felt another thrill jolt my body, which I suppressed. I knew he wouldn’t willingly show any weakness, so I would have to read him and tread carefully.

 

I twisted my body and placed my left hand on the mattress by Arthur’s head for balance. His body was discomforted and unwelcoming below me, so I slowly moved my hand from the mattress to Arthur’s far shoulder. My thumb began to smooth circles into the tense muscles there through the fabric of Arthur’s shirt. As I leaned over, my lips paused by Arthur’s neck. “Shh darling. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

 

At my promise, Arthur’s body began to relax beneath my thumb. He tilted his head away slightly, baring his neck to me like an offering. My tongue danced over my lips in what I knew was a predatory manner; luckily Arthur didn’t see it.

 

When I pressed my lips to Arthur’s neck, pausing there in case he was going to panic, a flash of electricity traveled through my body. Every sense was dialled up to maximum, switches and nerves I hadn’t even known about flickering on. It was like a power surge in a lightning storm, energy flashing between me and Arthur through my lips. I could barely contain it.

 

I made sure my thumb continued to rub soothingly, my fingers slipping shyly past the material of Arthur’s shirt to feel skin. At the same time, I suckled at my friend’s neck carefully, not wanting it to hurt. “What are you, a virgin?” Arthur teased, though his voice was breathy.

 

I nipped him hard for that, embarrassed when I realized how tender I was acting. Boundaries often blurred when in prison, but I couldn’t afford to get confused about this. My lips sucked hard after that, pinching blood vessels even without the aid of my teeth. I smirked when I finally pulled away, seeing my crooked bite mark in the middle of a gorgeous red bruise.

 

Arthur’s face was red as he raised a hand to touch curiously at his neck. He winced slightly when he touched my bite mark with too much pressure, but said nothing. I was waiting for him to punch me in the face again, or at least return to his own mattress. But instead I watched Arthur blink sleepily at me and roll over onto his side, facing the wall.

 

I wondered if this was a test. I knew I should kick him out of my bed, or at least ask what the hell was going on. I was more than half hard in my pants, and I was frustrated to realize I could do nothing to gain relief. But my renewed claim was still visible on Arthur’s neck, which calmed me slightly. So with little other option, I slipped under the blanket beside Arthur and fell into a restful sleep.

 

And that was how our odd routine began. Once a month, always on a night where I got in late, I would return to my cell to find Arthur on my bed. Sometimes he was on his stomach. Other times he was on his back and blinking up at the bed frame. He was always fully clothed and he never brought his current book with him.

 

I would always start by sitting on the bed, a thumb rubbing calming circles under Arthur’s shirt. Arthur always tilted his head away, giving me full access to his neck. Sometimes I bit hard; other times I only used my lips. Sometimes Arthur would dig fingers into my hair or shoulder; other times he would lie still and sigh happily – or so I wished to believe. Neither of us ever complained, and both of us always shared the bed that one night.

 

Needless to say, it wasn’t exactly easy on my libido.

 

Technically I could take Arthur without any fears regarding my status; everyone already ‘knew’. I had no issues with those higher on the food chain than me, and no one lower would consider going against me. If anything, being connected to Arthur made me more powerful. He was a strong, valuable ally – I didn’t even know how he got some pieces of information he did. It came in very handy and kept things interesting.

 

In fact, even though the claim was just for show, Arthur and I had started growing closer. At first we spent extra time together to make sure people believed my mark, which always stood in sharp contrast to Arthur’s pale skin. But then we realized that we actually enjoyed one another’s company – a rare occurrence in prison since you didn’t come here to make friends.

 

Arthur’s intelligence occasionally baffled me, and he was often too impatient to explain things. I found myself falling into the habit of actually borrowing books from the library to have more to discuss. I didn’t want to disappoint my cellmate. We talked about many things, though we hadn’t gotten to the point of sharing our pasts.

 

But all of our time together led to an ease and comfort between us that was obvious to pretty much everyone. We had truly become close friends.

 

I had to make sure this didn’t tumble over into something dangerous. The thought of feeling more for Arthur was terrifying because I knew it would be doomed from the start. I was in here with a life sentence and no chance of proving my innocence. Arthur, I had come to learn one day, was only in here for six years. Six years, while I was going to die in here.

 

It just wouldn’t work. It wasn’t meant to be.

 

Of course, that knowledge didn’t stop me from being a complete idiot.

 

I had kept myself under control for a year and a half. Or, as my mind saw it, sixteen markings. I had marked Arthur sixteen times, and each time I had pressed my interested cock into the mattress and ignored it to sleep next to Arthur.

 

Really, I was pretty proud of myself. I thought I was showing remarkable self-restraint.

 

Until, of course, I walked into our cell late one night, almost two years after I met Arthur. I had been kept late out in the field. They were having us ‘help in the community’ more and more because we were the cheapest labour there was. Though the prisoners never saw that money. Anyway, we had been escorted back to our cells since roll call and lights out had already been completed for the evening.

 

I really wasn’t expecting to walk in on Arthur jerking off, on my bed no less.

 

He was on my bunk when I slipped into our cell and the door slid closed behind me. His hand was flying in a blur up and down his shaft. His eyes were clenched closed and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth. Until he noticed my presence. Arthur paused in his strokes, as if considering whether continuing or stopping would piss me off more.

 

His eyes remained fixed on me, unembarrassed or too stubborn to show otherwise, and he sneered. “See something you like?”

 

I did.

 

A controlling shock of lust flashed through my body at the sight. I moved forward before I could remember the position I was supposed to maintain within these four walls. I was supposed to be pleasured. I wasn’t supposed to go on my knees. But all I wanted – all I needed in that moment – was for Arthur’s sneer to break.

 

I didn’t want it to fall. I wanted it to _crumble_ at the touch of my lips.

 

Lights out had already passed, so I wouldn’t need to worry about any nosy screws. I moved closer and fell to my knees. I gripped Arthur’s knees and dragged him to the edge of the bed before prying his thighs apart. “Eames...” Arthur began, unsure.

 

I froze, waiting to be shoved away, waiting to be punched, waiting for a panic attack. I had been worried about a fight or other negative reaction, but it seemed that Arthur wouldn’t mind if he was the one getting pleasured. When he had a choice. I was glad about that. Forcing people took the pleasure out of it for me, and then there hardly seemed a point to the act at all.

 

“Arthur?” I prompted, hands still on his quivering knees.

 

Arthur didn’t say anything else, but he stared down at me, watching me, and then spread his legs a little wider. He didn’t fight me when I shuffled further between his thighs, or when I began sliding the material of his pants down his legs and away from his swollen cock. It was already flushed red, and it twitched when I wrapped a hand around the base. Arthur’s cheeks were also flushed, I hoped with arousal. Otherwise, he seemed relatively stoic as he looked down at me.

 

I was unconcerned with this. That stoic look wouldn’t last long.

 

With his cock still in my hand, I leaned forward and swept my tongue over his slit. I was disappointed to realize this wouldn’t last long; Arthur had already gotten himself far enough for precome to bead on his tip for me. As I wet my lips and took more of Arthur into my mouth, I hoped this wouldn’t be my only opportunity.

 

I swirled my tongue around the cock filling my mouth, nudging teasingly at the ridge of his crown. Arthur groaned loudly at that – louder than we could risk – so my free hand blindly reached up for Arthur. I caught his arm and began swirling my thumb on the crook of his inner arm. It made him self-aware enough to control his volume as I sucked hard.

 

I was at war with myself and I didn’t know what side was winning. There was no part of me that didn’t want this, wasn’t enjoying this. It was just a question of what this all meant. I wasn’t going to pretend Arthur wasn’t my friend, because I’m pretty sure he was the best friend I ever had. So we could be friends with benefits, fuck buddies.

 

It seemed simple enough, but the tender touch of my fingers to the skin of Arthur’s inner arm was too out of place for that. As was my burning desire to grip my friend’s chin and drag him down into a bruising kiss.

 

I clenched my eyes closed and took Arthur to the root, shoving away those unwanted thoughts. This was all I needed – hell, more than what I needed to survive in here. I didn’t need a lover in here. I just needed a friend I could trust and occasionally release tension with. That’s what Arthur was. Besides, what would I do if I allowed myself to become lovesick and attached? In less than five years Arthur would be free to leave me and prison behind.

 

The thought of what that might do to me if I became anymore affectionate than I was now solidified my resolve. Those fantasies and desires were shoved down so far I nearly forgot they existed.

 

I was lucky that Arthur was too distracted to notice my internal struggle. But my renewed vigour after shifting my mindset had Arthur choking back a loud moan. Just because we would never be more than friends didn’t mean I couldn’t give Arthur the best orgasm of his life.

 

I was rusty after so many years of avoiding this just to make a point. The truth was that I actually enjoyed sucking cock; the people in the prison just couldn’t know that. But I could feel my own cock straining against my pants when I realized Arthur was being impatient and already thrusting up into my mouth. The sight of him when I blinked my eyes open, his face red, his mouth open, his eyes watching me work like he was trying to memorize this moment, nearly had me coming without a touch.

 

My desire and determination helped me work past my inexperience, and I swallowed around him as his cock brushed the back of my throat. My gag reflex fought for control, but Arthur’s moan of my name had me working past it. I wished idly that we weren’t in prison so we wouldn’t need to worry about how much noise we were making.

 

One of Arthur’s hands was on my shoulder while the other was in my hair, holding me in place while he continued to buck into my mouth with no sensible rhythm. One of my hands was still on Arthur’s inner elbow while my other had moved to brutally clutch his thigh for balance. Even though I was oxygen deprived and my jaw was sore, I never wanted it to end.

 

Arthur was getting close though; I could tell by the hot little whines that escaped his mouth on each fast exhale. I kept my eyes on him, taking in each sight greedily. Arthur was leading me through the pace he needed, fucking my mouth without choking me. But I wanted him to remember it was _me_ and not just some random mouth, so I continued to work as well. My tongue danced when it could, and I caused as much suction as I could the rest of the time.

 

Arthur glanced down and met my gaze solidly, not looking away. His grip on my hair turned painful suddenly, causing my eyes to water. “Eames... _Eames_ \--!” Arthur babbled, his hand leaving my shoulder to cover his own mouth. I could tell he was warning me, but there was nothing I wanted more than Arthur’s come in my mouth at that moment.

 

His cock was still spreading my lips, so I showed my preference with a deep breath through my nose and a hard suck around Arthur’s flesh. His movements stuttered a moment before a low groan vibrated in the back of his throat; the noise was never voiced past Arthur’s hand. Arthur’s other hand held my head still as he bucked up again and again, painting the inside of my mouth white.

 

I couldn’t remember being more turned on in my life. I worked to swallow each wave of hot, sticky come, even though it didn’t taste great with prison’s terrible diet. When Arthur was finally spent, his hand let go of my hair and he fell back onto my bed. I licked him clean as I watched his chest rise and fall like he was dying.

 

I smirked.

 

The sound of me pulling my fly down seemed to catch his attention. Arthur shuffled around until he was fully on my bed, resting on his side as he watched me pull my own throbbing cock out of my pants. I gripped myself and began jerking off desperately to the sight of Arthur watching my hand fly.

 

One, two, three frantic strokes. I gasped.

 

Four, five. I looked up and Arthur met my gaze.

 

Six. I clenched my eyes closed, panting, feeling it build at the base of my spine.

 

Seven, eight. “Come on,” Arthur’s voice swirled around my dizzy mind, assaulting my senses.

 

With a bit-off moan I came across my palm.

 

Even though it had only been my hand, I couldn’t remember a better orgasm. Once I was finished, Arthur dragged me up onto the mattress. I wanted Arthur to clean my hand, but I just wiped my seed away on my pants.

 

Both of our bodies were trembling. We didn’t kiss, because that’s not what this had been about. It was just an exchange of pleasure. But Arthur’s breathless, giddy laugh had me smiling anyway.

 

“You’re amazing at sucking cock,” Arthur praised, still trying to catch his breath.

 

“Aw, darling, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I teased, relieved when I only felt satisfaction and not a fluttering in my heart at the words. Arthur smacked me before giving me an unreadable expression in the darkness. “What?” Then I realized I had said darling again and wanted to curse.

 

“Why do you call me that?” Arthur asked softly, the rest of the prison quiet around us. “Is it just part of the show along with the claim mark?”

 

Arthur had given me a perfect excuse – one I should take full advantage of. But instead I heard myself sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t consciously realize I’m saying it.” I didn’t add that Arthur was the only person it happened with. For some reason, this seemed to be an acceptable answer for Arthur. He rolled over onto his stomach in a relaxed, lethargic manner, yawning tiredly. Our legs brushed for a moment before Arthur shuffled closer to the wall, his eyes fluttering closed.

 

That was another routine we began. Every second week of the month, two weeks after I had renewed the mark on Arthur’s neck, I would come back to the cell and suck Arthur off. Sometimes we’d get impatient and it would happen more frequently, but keeping it on a schedule made it feel more like a business deal.

 

It never happened on the nights I marked Arthur though. That was kept separate and oddly innocent.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It changed when Arthur returned the favour.

 

I’ll admit that occasionally Arthur frustrated me to no end. I never once regretted starting these routines between us, but it was starting to feel a little unfair. I understood that Arthur was still probably traumatized from Vince’s attack, and I’d rather have our current situation than push it and lose my friend. I still came hard enough to take my breath away each time, but I was growing tired of my hand.

 

It was difficult to continue sucking Arthur off and not imagine and wonder what his mouth on my cock would feel like. I had fallen into the bad habit of fantasizing Arthur between my knees – among other things – throughout the day. I had begun to wank off during my bathroom breaks like a shamed boy in high school. I never mentioned anything though, happy enough as we were.

 

Then it was my birthday. I didn’t tell anyone because there wasn’t much you could do in prison to celebrate. I was planning to watch my thirtieth birthday pass with a nod and not much else.

 

I had been in prison for seven and a half years.

 

I had known Arthur for two and a half years.

 

I had claimed Arthur as my own twenty months ago. Twenty times.

 

Arthur had come in my mouth six times, and on my face twice.

 

I had come to the thought of Arthur too many times to count.

 

The day passed like any other. By this point I barely remembered it was my birthday. Time in prison was always a sluggish, indistinguishable blob. I worked in the laundry while Arthur was helping reorganize the library for the day. I only saw him for breakfast that day.

 

We both lined up outside our cell for roll call that night, just like any other day. When roll call was complete, we stepped into our cell and watched the bars slide into place. I was debating between trying to sleep early and asking what new book Arthur had picked up from the library.

 

I didn’t get a chance to make my decision because Arthur grabbed my shoulders and led me backwards towards the bed. I would have hit my head on the metal frame if my cellmate hadn’t nudged my head down in time. The backs of my legs caught the edge of the mattress and I sat down abruptly.

 

My brain and heart stopped working when Arthur fluidly fell to his knees, somehow graceful as he knelt between my legs. “Arthur, what--?” I was too scared to believe this was happening, untrusting of the reason my hopeful brain might come up with.

 

“Happy birthday,” Arthur said, his smile breathtaking even though it was tinged with impatience as he fumbled with the zipper of my pants. I tried to help him get the fabric away, but my fingers were trembling with anticipation and Arthur batted me away. The heel of his palm was already grinding against me as Arthur got my pants undone and down past my knees.

 

Arthur smiled when he noticed my excitement, seeing that I was half hard already. I would have been embarrassed by my eagerness – what it no doubt implied – but Arthur seemed to take it as a compliment.

 

The hand that had been grinding against me gripped my cock at its base, Arthur’s movements almost shy. I wondered if this was Arthur’s first time but had to stop thinking about it; I wanted this to last. Instead I watched Arthur’s hand stroke me to full hardness; the touch was almost too hot and dry, but the friction had me fucking Arthur’s hand anyway.

 

Once I was fully hard and twitching for more in my friend’s hand, Arthur gave me a quick glance before leaning forward and taking me into his mouth. I moaned Arthur’s name like it was the key to my salvation. I didn’t even realize how loud I had been until Arthur pulled away with a scowl.

 

“Be quiet!” he hissed at me, as though it was my own damned fault that I was about to have a heart attack. Arthur dropped his head again and it was all I could do to bury one hand in his hair and bite on the heel of my other palm to keep quiet.

 

Despite Arthur thwarting all other advances since arriving – and I knew he had received and turned down more offers than he told me about – he had been born to do this. I wasn’t sure if he had experience or if it was just the way he looked on his knees between my legs. But I knew this would be prominent in my fantasies for a long time to come.

 

Arthur’s cheeks hollowed around me as he sucked hard and I bit down hard on my hand, tasting the fading detergent from the laundry. I took full advantage when I realized I was allowed to muss up Arthur’s hair. My fingers skimmed through soft locks of hair, massaging his scalp when I had the consciousness to ensure I didn’t dig my nails in. The best part was that it made Arthur moan around me, sending vibrations up my cock and spine.

 

I could feel Arthur smiling around me as I groaned into my hand, the smug bastard. I wanted to grip his hair tighter and force him to take me deeper, faster, but I allowed him to lead the torturous pace. It was incredibly hot, leaving Arthur entirely in charge of my pleasure. It was wonderful feeling something other than my hand around me.

 

When I wasn’t controlling everything, each surprise twist, lick and suck had me clenching my eyes closed and moaning my approval.

 

Arthur’s mouth was like nothing I had ever felt before. His tongue and lips were slick with a build up of saliva, which had Arthur’s lips gleaming in the small beam of moonlight from our tiny window. His mouth was so hot I wondered if he had a fever, searing as his cheeks hollowed again to encase my weeping cock.

 

My friend’s hand was still around my base, keeping me at a good angle for him. Occasionally his fingers would tease lower to massage my balls, which had me letting out embarrassing little whines of need in the back of my throat. His other hand was on my inner thigh, grappling for balance.

 

“Arthur...” I moved my hand away to moan softly. I saw his eyes widen as he glanced up at me, his head still bobbing. Arthur’s eyes fell half lidded as our eyes met, and he let out the most glorious moan, muffled by my cock spreading his lips. “Touch yourself for me, darling,” I requested lightly, trying to hold myself off from coming at the sight of Arthur looking up at me as he sucked me off.

 

Arthur pulled away for a moment, panting as he fumbled with his own pants. I was half tempted to suggest we suck each other off, but it was my birthday and I was greedy; I was loving watching him on his knees, knowing he had done this for no one else in here.

 

I gripped the bed frame to keep myself in a seated position, not wanting to miss a second. Arthur got his pants shoved down just far enough to free his own leaking cock, muting his own moan by shoving my cock back into his mouth when he gripped himself. But before our rhythm returned, Arthur removed his mouth again. This pattern repeated a few times: Arthur took my cock to the back of his mouth, sucked hard, retreated until my saliva-slick flesh tingled with the open air, and then repeated.

 

“Tease,” I accused weakly, my voice breaking.

 

Arthur grinned up at me, lips swollen, eyes bright, and then got back to work.

 

I knew I wouldn’t be able to last much longer as I simultaneously watched Arthur suck my cock and fuck his own hand. Arthur’s tongue moved frantically, as did his hand; we were both close already. Arthur gagged once or twice with his eagerness, but his renewed vigour each time just made it hotter.

 

“Your mouth is heaven, darling,” I informed him on a quick exhale. I figured he should know. “So bloody perfect as you take my cock,” I began to babble as Arthur allowed me to buck up into his mouth, both of us racing towards our end. I made sure to keep my voice low, quieter than my loud, desperate breathing, but loud enough for Arthur to hear. Each word riled Arthur up more, causing him to suck harder, take more, grip himself tighter.

 

I loved it.

 

And then it was over. I only managed to choke out Arthur’s name in warning before I was painting that wonderful mouth with my seed. Arthur moaned loudly at that, though not nearly as loud as I did. It felt like I would never finish, filling my friend’s mouth until some slid past his lips. I finally released Arthur’s head when I was spent, not remembering when I had held him still for my completion.

 

When Arthur pulled away for air, a small trail of my come linked his lips and the tip of my cock. Another tremor worked through my body.

 

Arthur’s hand was flying over his own shaft, still on his knees with his eyes closed. His hand was on my knee for balance, though I think it was also to ground himself as he fought frantically for completion. My body was still recovering, my pulse racing, my ears ringing, but I gripped Arthur under the arms and dragged him onto the mattress.

 

He keened at the loss of his hand’s friction on his cock, but I didn’t give him time to do anything about it. I pinned his hips to the bed before swallowing Arthur whole, loving the hot, heavy weight of him on my tongue again. Arthur whined as his hips fought my grasp, but I forced his body into stillness; I was also grateful that he trusted me enough to do this.

 

I tongued at his slit once before getting his full length into my mouth. That was all it took as Arthur let out the tiniest choked off sob of a moan I had ever heard. If my previous orgasm hadn’t been so consuming, I would have gotten hard again at that sound. As it was, I worked on swallowing the hot ropes of Arthur’s come, licking up the few droplets that dribbled down my chin.

 

When he was finished, Arthur pulled me back down into a lying position on the mattress. My leg was hooked over his and half of my chest was covering his, my head tucked beside his shoulder and facing the wall. I knew we were too close, but for a few minutes we remained like that, focusing on catching our breath.

 

When my body finally felt somewhat calmer, I rolled away slightly so that we weren’t dangerously close to cuddling. “I bet everyone heard that,” Arthur whispered between us, sounding unsure of himself.

 

I brushed my hand blindly through his hair for a moment, not wanting him to regret this. “I don’t care,” I admitted softly, realizing it was the truth. “They already think we’re together anyway. Who cares if we start proving them right?”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, sounding much calmer.

 

A comfortable silence fell between us. A spark of nerves flashed through me when I realized we had probably sounded a lot more personal than most prison rendezvous would. But I shrugged this aside, deciding it was worth it. I had already put a claim on Arthur without any negative reactions. It was unlikely that anything more would happen if people thought were more than friends – which we weren’t.

 

A different thought came to mind then, and I blinked my eyes open. I could see Arthur’s form in the pale lighting, but I couldn’t tell if he was already asleep. “Arthur?” I tested. I received a questioning grunt in reply. “How did you know it was my birthday?”

 

Arthur didn’t respond at first, though I heard the soft rustle of sheets as he moved to look at me. “I told you I was skilled at getting information.”

 

“Yeah, but how exactly?” I pressed, curious now. We had finally shared our life stories before prison, explaining how we got here, as well as hopes and plans that might or might not ever come true. But ever since Arthur had explained how he collected information, and how he eventually got caught, I had become addicted to knowing more.

 

“I read your file,” Arthur stated simply.

 

“Bullshit,” I challenged, “That’s in the warden’s office.”

 

Arthur sighed. “You know I’m good at getting information and yet you can’t believe I’ve been able to learn the warden and guards’ schedules. It only took two minutes including the time to leave and get back to the library. A pretty normal length of time to go to the bathroom, wouldn’t you say?”

 

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You are amazing.” It seemed sort of silly once I had spoken the words, but I’d like to think Arthur smiled against my pillow when he heard them. “When’s your birthday?” I asked, feeling oddly shy.

 

“It happened a month ago in February.” I crushed down the unwelcome butterflies in my stomach when Arthur sounded just as shy. “I’m twenty six now.”

 

“You didn’t say anything,” I chided, wishing now that I had known.

 

“It was a good night anyway.” He paused and then continued, knowing I’d ask the question if he didn’t explain on his own. “It was our claiming night.”

 

I could tell the conversation was over after that because Arthur shifted on the bed until he was facing the far wall. My heart was beating rapidly in my chest, tripping over its rhythm like a newborn foal learning to walk. I forced myself to turn away from my cellmate and decisively crush the affection spreading across my body like a disease.

 

Still, I smiled against the sheets as my mind slowed and my eyes grew heavy. It was the best birthday of my life.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It changed when we fucked for the first time.

 

It was Arthur’s birthday. He was turning twenty seven and I was determined to do something for him since I had missed his previous birthdays. We woke up beside each other on my mattress, watching each other sleepily until we had to get up for the roll call. The mark I had made on Arthur’s neck the night before was dark and brutal looking, but Arthur seemed unconcerned.

 

I had asked him what he wanted and Arthur had always said he didn’t know. He promised that he’d think about it, but had never come up with an answer. Now my present would be late if I traded someone to get something from the outside. Arthur still seemed unbothered though, giving me a small smile before shuffling to a corner to modestly change his clothes for the day.

 

I saw him for breakfast but Arthur was absent for the rest of the day; he was forced to do hard labour on his birthday. I didn’t tell any of the other guys that it was Arthur’s birthday. In my mind I made the argument that it wasn’t my place to share such information.

 

Deeper down I knew I just wanted him to myself.

 

It was only at dinner that I heard the news; Arthur had caught his foot against a jagged piece of broken stone and sprained his ankle. He had been taken to the infirmary. Luckily Dom had told me before we sat down at the table so that I was able to process my concern and school my face back into a calm mask before anyone else saw.

 

Everyone knew I had claimed Arthur. Everyone knew that had led to a physical exchange of pleasure. But no one needed to know about my internal struggle to keep our relationship at that level. After a year of sucking or jerking one another off, it was hard to remain distant. But I had to.

 

Arthur would be leaving prison in three years.

 

Although I wanted to rush to the infirmary immediately, I forced myself to eat my dinner calmly and return to my cell with everyone else. The screws wouldn’t let me visit the infirmary without a good reason anyway.

 

However, when I walked into my cell and the bars slid closed, I saw that Arthur was already lying on his stomach on my bed. It wasn’t our night for marking; the bruise was still vibrant on his neck. And normally when one of us was going to make an exchange, Arthur lay down on his back to show he was open and receptive. I didn’t know what to do in this new situation.

 

His head was resting on his left arm, which was lying straight out towards the top of the bed. His face was towards the door and his eyes were open; he saw my arrival but hadn’t said anything. The rest of his body was sprawled out comfortably, his right arm hooked over the side of the mattress, fingers brushing concrete. His legs were taking up the rest of the mattress, spread slightly and his feet bare.

 

I moved to sit on the edge of the bed quickly, touching careful, hesitant fingers to Arthur’s bandage-wrapped ankle. “Are you alright, darling?”

 

I saw a small smile bloom across Arthur’s face. “Don’t worry,” his voice soothed me. “I faked it. Yusuf just bandaged me up so the guards wouldn’t know.”

 

“Why did you fake it?” I continued brushing the bandages on my friend’s ankle, acknowledging my concern with a flash of annoyance at myself.

 

“I figured out what I want for my birthday.”

 

I wasn’t sure if this was a non-sequitur or not, but I followed his words anyway. “And what is it that you want?”

 

Arthur glanced down the length of the bed at me, watching my fingers trace patterns onto the bandages. A shiver passed through his body. “I want you to fuck me.”

 

My fingers froze. My breath caught in my throat. My heart stopped. “You...”

 

“Want you to fuck me, yes,” Arthur restated with an eye roll. I could tell his impatience was fake though, a bluff to hide how nervous he was.

 

“It’ll hurt,” was my first response, again betraying my eagerness since I wasn’t even going to argue or say I didn’t want this. But the thought of hurting Arthur gave me the self control to pause and really consider this offer.

 

Arthur’s cheeks were turning pink and his eyes darker. “That’s why I faked the ankle. Yusuf gave me this.” My cellmate rolled over and pulled his left arm back, opening his palm for me to see. There was a small glob of lotion there, just enough to hide it from the screws escorting Arthur back to his cell.

 

My heartbeat was like thunder in my ears. I licked my lips, realizing they had gone dry.

 

“That’s not enough. It will still hurt,” I cautioned him. There were no lies about my desire for this. Arthur was shy but determined; he must have been thinking about this for a while too.

 

“It will be enough,” Arthur promised me, “I’ll be fine.”

 

Truthfully I wanted to kiss him in that moment. I wanted to crawl up the bed and steal his breath the way he had stolen mine, capture those lips as he had captured my thoughts since his arrival. Instead, I leaned forward partway up the bed, on all fours and framing Arthur’s body like he was a masterpiece that needed to be preserved. “You’re sure?” I held his gaze, looking for uncertainty.

 

I didn’t think I’d be able to stop once this started.

 

“Yes,” Arthur nodded, smile returning when he knew I wouldn’t reject him for this request. But I saw a flash of fear in those eyes, which made me freeze. I reminded myself that the last time Arthur had done this, it had been wholly against his will. Arthur seemed to notice my withdrawal though and hooked his arm without the lotion around my neck. For a minute I thought he was going to kiss me, and I didn’t know what I’d do if he did. But he just held me in place over him, eyes sharp. “I trust you.”

 

The truth in those words, and the emotion locked away but still driving that statement had my heart skipping beats. Arthur trusted me to do this after he had been raped. No one else; I wasn’t just an available body.

 

Just me.

 

My desire to kiss him came back. I was so close that my breath ruffled his bangs. To relieve the urge without doing something dangerous, I leaned down and suckled the hickey on my friend’s neck. Some guilty, stupid part of me hoped he recognized my affection in the action.

 

When I regretfully pulled away, Arthur’s arm remained hooked around my neck, keeping me close. Arthur’s smile turned heated. “Now would you stop acting so gentlemanly?” he requested. “We’re in prison for fuck’s sake.”

 

Somehow, despite his cavalier attitude, I knew Arthur had noticed the tenderness of my mouth on my neck. Feeling shy, I pulled away further and reached for Arthur’s other hand. “As you wish,” I smirked down at him as I scooped the lotion onto my own hand.

 

Arthur’s smile faltered slightly when I began rolling him over to lie on his stomach, but I swallowed hard and forced myself to ignore it. If this position caused flashbacks, Arthur would say so. But if his smile had dropped for some other reason, the way I knew mine probably had, I couldn’t acknowledge it. We were already dancing around dangerous boundaries; this couldn’t be allowed to become anymore personal with a more intimate position.

 

Arthur and I both fumbled with our pants until they were shoved down our thighs; the rest of our clothing remained in place. Then Arthur rose up onto his hands and knees while I knelt behind him, stroking myself at the delicious picture my cellmate made. We were both hard already, bodies overheated and thrumming with eagerness from all the build up to this moment.

 

I reached around with my clean hand to stroke Arthur a few times, making sure his body wasn’t reacting poorly to this position. Arthur bit off a moan at my touch and rutted down against my palm, effectively shoving his ass tauntingly in the air. While my hand was busy, I leaned down to nip at the two little dimples that were barely visible below the hem of his shirt. I greedily lapped up the taste of his warm, sweaty skin, breathing in his scent.

 

Eventually I pulled away, allowing a private smirk when Arthur whined at the loss of contact. Arthur was excellent for boosting my confidence. I dipped one finger into the small puddle of lotion in my opposite palm, doing my best to conserve our supply. I knew that if we ever wanted to do this again, we would have to do so without any aid. We couldn’t fake an injury and get sent to the infirmary for more lotion every time we wanted to fuck, and we would need help to get lube. Even if we could find someone to trade with, we couldn’t afford to have someone knowing; you weren’t supposed to care enough about your partner to want lube here in prison.

 

For now though, I hoped to make this as painless as possible with the lotion Arthur had sneaked for us. I pressed the slicked tip of my finger against Arthur’s puckered hole, pushing in and out carefully to spread the lotion. I could hear Arthur’s breath catch in his throat, the sharp intake and the tensing of Arthur’s shoulders the only indication of any pain. I slowly inched my finger further in, letting out a quiet groan at the sensation of Arthur clenching around me. I paused and then moved my finger in and out slowly, twisting it to get as much skin coated with lotion as I could manage.

 

I knew I needed more lotion when I felt friction against my finger so I withdrew fully. Arthur was still on his hands and knees, limbs already trembling. I took a moment to push Arthur’s shirt up his body slightly, not removing it but exposing a bit more of his unblemished skin for me to view. I smoothed a hand over his back, hoping to calm his body before dipping two fingers into the lotion.

 

I still worked one finger in first, spreading lotion and easing my passage. Then I carefully wiggled my second finger in, tightly pressed against the first as Arthur’s walls stretched to accommodate me. A quiet whine broke at the back of my friend’s throat, and I heard the bed sheet rustle when he gripped the fabric tightly in his fist. “Shh, darling, you’re doing so well,” I praised, voice soft as my fingers moved in and out slowly. Arthur let out a contented little sigh and shifted to spread his knees a little more, my fingers still buried in his body.

 

My voice seemed to calm him down, maybe reminding him that it was me and not Vince behind him, so I continued whispering whatever came to mind as I worked Arthur open. “So perfect, Arthur,” I hummed, “I’m so glad you trust me...” I had to eventually stop myself before I said something I shouldn’t, but by that point I was scissoring my fingers, stretching Arthur as much as I could. I didn’t have enough lotion to coat a third finger if I wanted to slick up my leaking cock, so this would have to do. “You ready?”

 

“Yeah...” Arthur insisted, though I couldn’t help but notice that he still wasn’t daring to move back onto my fingers. “Yeah, come on, Eames.” His voice was breathy though, and I couldn’t hold out much longer. When I touched him briefly he was still fully hard, so the pain hadn’t been too bad. I stole his precome, which smeared over my fingers, as well as my own and pressed my fingers in again quickly, stealing a surprised grunt from Arthur at the intrusion.

 

I was about to cover my length in the remaining lotion when I paused, biting my lip. I suddenly realized that I didn’t have a condom to use. It seemed like a stupid realization, really, considering the fact that we were in prison; it wasn’t as though there was a convenience store around the block we could rush to. I had never really thought about it before, never really caring enough about my partner to consider their safety. “Arthur...” I began cautiously, though I don’t know what I was going to say; I didn’t want to stop.

 

“I read your file, remember?” Arthur suddenly snapped, voice short and harsh in our quiet cell. “I know you’re clean, and I’m clean too dammit!” Arthur didn’t glance back at me, instead allowing his head to hang between his tense shoulders. I told myself that he was being snarky because he was in pain, but it still had my own eyes narrowing. “What the fuck is this, a first date?” Arthur continued, voice low and mean. I swallowed, anger fuelled by my embarrassment at acting more personal than I should, and got back to work without another word.

 

I stroked myself quickly, only taking minimal pleasure from the touch as I coated it with the last of the lotion. Then I lined myself up, placing my palms on Arthur’s hips to keep him in place, and pushed in slowly. Arthur gave a pathetic little whimper and fell forward onto his forearms, panting quietly.

 

It hurt. I knew it had to hurt, even though Arthur never said anything to get me to stop. I told myself I didn’t care and pushed in further until finally I felt myself bottom out. But I didn’t close my eyes. Even though I was still embarrassed and angry, I cared enough that I wanted to remember it was Arthur under me, allowing me to do this.

 

I could feel his body rebelling, clenching down around me hard as it no doubt remembered the last intrusion it had experienced from Vince. At the same time, I could feel Arthur trying to fight his body’s instincts, forcing his body to calm and accept me in. Even though my mind was mostly focused on the sensation of sinking my cock into Arthur’s body, I still felt privileged that Arthur trusted me this much.

 

It was...beautiful.

 

This seemed to dull my anger – both at myself and Arthur – and my embarrassment, causing it to fall into the back of my mind as I focused more fully on my friend’s body taking me in. I rubbed soothing circles into Arthur’s lower back with one palm, leaning forward to kiss Arthur’s spine chastely. “Eames...?” Arthur nearly sobbed, voice sounding almost fearful.

 

“I’m right here, Arthur,” I promised, smiling to myself when Arthur’s body relaxed around my still cock at the sound of my voice. Not Vince’s voice, not the sound of Vince’s guys jeering around him. Just me. Just Arthur.

 

“I’m sorry for snapping,” Arthur apologized as his whole body trembled and his hot feverish walls relaxed around me further.

 

A snort escaped me before I could contain it. All at once my annoyance – and resulting resolve to take Arthur as harshly and impersonally as I could manage – melted away. It would have been aggravating if Arthur didn’t feel so good, his body clenching around my girth experimentally. “You are focused on the wrong fucking thing, darling,” I warned him, trying to help him refocus his attention.

 

When I pulled out and pushed back in, I made sure my movements were slow and smooth; the lotion helped our flesh glide together, but Arthur wouldn’t thank me for any quick movements. I kept one hand on Arthur’s back, fingers spread and massaging tense muscles when I had enough awareness to do so. My other hand remained on his hip, reminding Arthur not to let his body sag towards the mattress and change the angle.

 

Then I began a steady pace, sliding in and out and searching for the bundle of nerves that would help Arthur forgot his pain. At first Arthur was mostly silent, body still tense as my thrusts brushed against stretched muscles. His body still felt like burning velvet around me, squeezing me as I buried myself as deep as I could again and again. I loved the tiny gasps that fell from Arthur’s lips at each thrust, because even though they were sharp with pain, Arthur began moving back to meet each one of my thrusts carefully.

 

I knew I got the right angle when Arthur’s back bowed and he pushed back hard against me. Both of us grunted at the sensation, but then Arthur let out the most beautiful moan of my name. It had me moaning in return and pressing in harder, aiming for Arthur’s prostate on each hard thrust. At first I couldn’t get enough of Arthur’s vocalizations, allowing them to drive me and my actions until there was nothing but our bodies moving together. But then he started getting louder and louder.

 

Without thinking, I reached around and placed a hand over Arthur’s mouth, trying to quieten him. If we were alone, I would have just pressed in harder, trying to drag a shout out of Arthur’s lovely mouth. But we weren’t alone and we had to make sure we didn’t wake up the whole prison with the sound of our coupling. Immediately though I knew I had done something wrong as Arthur shouted hoarsely against my palm, fought my touch and stiffened so tightly I had to pull out fully.

 

“Fuck Arthur, I’m so sorry,” I whispered frantically as Arthur pulled away from me, feeling my heart clench painfully when I saw the fear in that withdrawing body. I followed him up the bed, feeling guilty as I heard him grunt in pain when his body shifted suddenly to curl up on the mattress. He didn’t seem interested in running away further than that as I lay down on my side facing him, brushing his hair back to see his face. “I didn’t think, darling. I’m so sorry; please don’t cry.”

 

“I’m not fucking crying!” Arthur snapped at me, slapping my hand away before angrily swiping at the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Why did you stop?”

 

I gave him a disbelieving look but didn’t push myself into his personal space, not wanting to cause further adverse reactions. “You clearly just had a flashback because of my stupidity.” Arthur glared at me like I was just acting difficult for the sake of it. “Don’t worry, we can finish like this,” I insisted, thinking he might just be frustrated about the interruption so close to his completion.

 

Arthur bared his teeth at me and for a minute I thought he was going to kill me. And then he gripped my hair hard, causing me to wince, and whispered into my ear. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to find someone tomorrow who will.”

 

A nauseating flash of jealously rushed through me like a hurricane, leaving me dazed and illogical in my thoughts; my only focus was on Arthur’s words. “You absolutely will _not_ ,” I hissed dangerously, shuffling closer and pressing my hot length against Arthur’s thigh, rutting demonstratively against the fabric of his half removed pants.

 

“Then don’t leave me waiting,” Arthur challenged, smeared tear tracks drying on his face; already forgotten. A part of me couldn’t understand it, couldn’t understand how Arthur could experience something so traumatic and relive it in flashbacks and yet continue on anyway. But a larger part of me didn’t care, my body still desperate for its end, so I reached down to touch Arthur. My eyes flickered back up to meet his when I felt that his erection had wilted with his momentary panic. “Fuck it,” Arthur murmured, voice shaky, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment, “Nevermind.”

 

I watched, dismayed as Arthur rolled over to face the wall, turning his back to me. I felt bad for him; probably more than I should. And in that moment when my jealousy, arousal and sympathy collided in a confusing mess of emotions in my mind, I decided to break a few of my rules.

 

I slotted myself close to Arthur, my chest moulded to the shape of his back. Then I wound one arm around his hip, pushing his pants down his legs again, and brushed the tips of my fingers over his cock teasingly. At the same time, I replaced my lips to the unmarked skin of Arthur’s neck. My actions were so far out of line, I didn’t even know what to do with myself anymore, or how I’d explain myself in the morning. In prison, the hickey left on someone’s neck was supposed to be placed there to indicate ownership, and it was supposed to be given in a rather impersonal way. But my lips were tender and comforting as they roved over Arthur’s skin, leaving soft love bites that I would never have an adequate explanation for.

 

At the same time, I gripped Arthur in my hand and stroked lightly, smiling against Arthur’s neck when my friend let out a pleased sigh and melted against me. Taking this as a good sign, I continued my gentle manipulation of my hand and lips. In that moment I was breaking every rule but two:

 

Don’t kiss.

 

Don’t fall in love.

 

I cared for Arthur more than was smart, but I didn’t think I loved him. We were just friends, and that was all we needed to be. And even though I was peppering kisses along Arthur’s neck, it didn’t give me the same jolt I knew would pass through my body if our lips ever touched.

 

Once Arthur was hard again and pushing himself up into my hand, panting quietly into the still air around us, I carefully pulled my hand away. I shifted closer to him, our hips aligning, and lined my cock up against Arthur’s hole. I wanted to lift his leg to open him a little further, but his pants were in the way. He didn’t protest the movement, remaining on his side on the mattress while I got into position. I spit into my hand to coat myself more, wishing this could be completely painless for my cellmate.

 

This time when I pushed in, my movements were sure and steady but unhurried. After I was fully seated I hooked my arm around Arthur’s waist again to touch my friend’s length. We pushed against one another without hesitating, our bodies moulding together again as I stroked Arthur and held him close to me. It didn’t take long, both of our bodies riled up despite the issues partway through. Arthur came first, turning my fingers slick and sticky. He whispered my name like he didn’t want me to hear, and yet wanted nothing more than for it to drive me over the edge.

 

And it did.

 

I gasped quietly as I came deep inside Arthur, the shallow thrusting of my hips burying my seed deep in his body. It took a long time before my body was fully spent, shudders working through my body as the oversensitive flesh of my cock continued brushing the clenching canals of Arthur’s ass. I never wanted to leave his body, never wanted to pull out again, but eventually I was forced to.

 

When our bodies parted we remembered to lie on opposite sides of the mattress, however little space there actually was remaining between us. However, in my sleepy, post orgasmic haze, I flung an arm over towards Arthur. My hand managed to hook innocently on his forearm, which was out by his side. Arthur didn’t comment on it, and the last thing I could think to say before we both drifted away was, “Happy Birthday, darling.”

 

We fucked once a week after that, properly from then on. We had to make sure we always did it on Monday nights, the night after Arthur had to work hard labour. He worked out in the field Mondays and Fridays while I worked Tuesdays and Saturdays. It didn’t matter when I worked because I always topped, as my position demanded. But the sex was never exactly easy on Arthur’s body, even when I used as much spit as my body could possibly produce. He didn’t complain, and we never had another issue with flashbacks after I learned what could set them off, but I still noticed how stiff his movements were the day or so after we fucked.

 

Once, near the time we started this new level of our exchanges, we had gotten impatient and I had taken Arthur on a Thursday; we had figured his body would have adjusted to me by then. We had been wrong, though Arthur hadn’t told me so. It was only when I returned back from the laundry that evening and stepped into the cell with Arthur that he had told me what happened during the day. Apparently he had been unable to bend over and lift the same weight of rocks as normal and he had gotten lashed for it by one of the particularly temperamental screws.

 

I had sucked Arthur off that night to take his mind off the pain. He had whispered my name into the cold winter night air the way he had become prone to do.

 

After the first time, we were never so personal. We had still managed to avoid fucking face to face on our first time, but moulding my body to Arthur’s and fucking him from the side wasn’t exactly impersonal. Every other time I made sure Arthur was on all fours with me kneeling behind him. He never complained, though he also never gifted me with another one of those contented little sighs. But we fucked right to the point and didn’t make anything more of it.

 

Neither of us really commented on how I’d occasionally lean forward and plaster my sweat-slick chest to Arthur’s back, resting my forehead on the dip between Arthur’s shoulder blades while I fucked into him. Maybe our bodies got a little too close, moved with too much care and synchrony, but really it was just a handy place to rest my head as I fought desperately to catch my breath.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It changed when Arthur got sent to solitary confinement.

 

Arthur was, in most senses of the word, a well behaved prisoner. He rarely got in trouble or sent to solitary confinement, and when he did he never made a fuss about it. I knew he occasionally got a little too curious for anyone’s good, but I also knew he was pretty skilled at not getting caught. That was why I was rather shocked when randomly, four years after Arthur had wandered into my life, a bunch of screws dragged him by force away from the dinner table.

 

These days I was usually inclined to believe Arthur; we shared quite a bit with one another. But when the screws came to drag him away and our eyes met, Arthur had only said “It’s nothing.”

 

‘Nothing’ didn’t get you two weeks in solitary.

 

All of the guys had their own theories about what Arthur had done once the dining hall had calmed down again. Some insisted he had stolen something. Others were positive he was making deals with people on the outside, trying to organize a break out. Still others mused that he might have embarrassed one of the snitty screws somehow. They all seemed plausible and yet utterly ridiculous.

 

I didn’t join in on the speculations. Instead I continued picking at my food, appetite faded as I kept glancing over at Arthur’s own abandoned dinner tray directly on my left.

 

All things considered, two weeks in prison is a really short amount of time; especially when you’re in for life. It’s like a blink of an eye. And yet those two weeks with Arthur in solitary confinement dragged for me like I was down there with him in that dark, tiny cell. In fact, I sort of wished I was, however much I hated being locked down there.

 

Solitary confinement wasn’t a fun experience. Even if you were a loner by nature, even if you had enemies you wanted to avoid in prison, you couldn’t enjoy solitary for long. Being alone in the dark and quiet did something to your head. On the first day I’ll admit, it’s almost relaxing. You don’t have to work, don’t have to deal with testy guards or angry prisoners. You just sit there and relax and people bring you food.

 

But then, after a day or two of that, you start getting a little stir crazy. The cells are tiny and dark so there aren’t many opportunities for you to move around. Your body gets stiff quite quickly, normally used to working hard every day. And then you get antsy, wishing for the fresh air and sun of the yard. Still though, you sit there and tell yourself that you should be the one who’s laughing, because you can just lie there and do nothing.

 

It’s near the end of the first week that you really start regretting whatever you did to get put in solitary. There’s a reason they put prisoners in solitary rather than always use physical punishment. Everyone in here was guilty of something, even if you weren’t guilty of what they convicted you for. And after a few days of nothing but you and your thoughts, you always found something to agonize over and regret. Trying to distract yourself just brought up other memories better left forgotten but there was no other distractions offered to you. You couldn’t even read or play a game because there wasn’t enough light to do so.

 

Things only got worse if you were unfortunate enough to be locked away for two weeks. Your joints forgot how to move smoothly and your senses became oversensitive; by the time you were let out you couldn’t even keep your eyes open fully on your first day back in direct sunlight. A few people went crazy down there, never finding their way back out of their consuming thoughts and guilt.

 

Each night when I went back to my cell alone, I wondered how Arthur was holding up, hoping for the best.

 

It was odd in those two weeks alone, and I distinctly felt like I was being punished as well. I would wake up in the morning alone, Arthur not in my bed or his own. His sleep-mussed hair and dreamy smile was absent. I never quite remembered not to look for him at mealtimes, always leaving a space beside me that was never filled – even the guys knew not to sit there. And at the end of the day, Arthur wasn’t there waiting for me.

 

At first I thought I just missed Arthur’s body. He was easy on the eyes, always making me a little less angry that I was wrongfully in prison when I saw him each morning. The exchanges Arthur and I had been making for the last few years had also become a huge part of my life in prison. The brief moments of pleasure and closeness we shared were on a different scale from what I had experienced both inside and outside of prison. The screws had taken Arthur away on the week I was supposed to mark Arthur again and I felt cheated.

 

But then, as the days passed by slowly, I began to realize that I was missing more than just the feel of my lips on Arthur, and of my cock buried to the hilt in his now-welcoming body. I missed the smiles Arthur gave me in the mornings, and the way he’d sometimes accidentally brush his fingers along my forearm as he pushed himself off the bed to get dressed. I missed the way he passed over his carrots at dinners right before I handed him my broccoli; and I missed our resulting disbelief that the other favoured such disgusting vegetables.

 

I missed the times I’d go to the library and Arthur would give me a knowing look when I’d try to sneak out with the book he had just finished reading. I missed the nights we’d discuss a book or shared stories until long after lights out, as well as the nights we returned to our cell too exhausted from work and just lay there in companionate silence until we fell asleep. I even missed the days we didn’t share a bed – on the week nights we didn’t make an exchange or when we knew the screws would be doing checks for contraband. Both of us would shift on our own mattresses, causing them to creak tellingly; we had grown unaccustomed to sleeping alone.

 

I missed my friend.

 

I missed my companion.

 

I missed my partner.

 

I felt sick the evening I curled up under my blankets alone, three days remaining in Arthur’s solitary confinement. I realized that this was what life would be like for me in two years time when Arthur was released from prison. I found it difficult to sleep after that.

 

Whatever Arthur had done, it must have been bad because the screws left him in solitary for his entire last day, rather than letting him out in the morning. I had found myself spending the whole day craning my hearing in case Arthur called out to me in the dining hall or in the yard. I would always be looking over my shoulder in case he tried to sneak up behind me to surprise me, even though that wasn’t really the type of thing he’d do.

 

By the end of the last day of that second week, I was a disaster. The guys had snickered at me and shaken their heads at my stupidity, but they did their best to keep me occupied. When I stood outside my cell for roll call though, subtly glancing over my shoulder and sighing dejectedly when I saw the cell was empty, I sort of gave up. By then I had just assumed Arthur had been given another week.

 

I curled up under my blankets and tossed restlessly, lights out long since passed. And then, a while after I should have been properly asleep, I heard footsteps echoing on the cement out in the cell block. At first I didn’t allow myself to hope, but I still rolled over to face the door – just in case. As they approached, I could make out two strong pairs of steps and one fumbling one; my heartbeat picked up.

 

Even though I wanted to rush out of bed, I forced myself to remain in bed as the metal bars slid away and two screws shoved Arthur into the cell. Neither of us moved or made a sound until the bars returned to their proper place and the guards’ steps faded away. Then I listened as Arthur stumbled over to my bed and slowly lowered himself down onto my mattress and under the covers. I wondered if he wanted me to mark him right away, not knowing how well he had mentally survived solitary, so I remained still.

 

Arthur, movements stiff, shifted right over to my side of the bed and pressed his lips to mine. It was a chaste kiss, his lips brushing over mine more than sealing over my mouth, but it still sent a shock of electricity through my body. I was about to kiss back – to pull Arthur closer and never let go, damn the consequences – when Arthur pulled away tiredly. I didn’t think he thought I wasn’t interested because he still remained close on the mattress; I think he was just wiped out and distressed by two weeks of solitary.

 

I knew I was in trouble when I didn’t mind him pulling away. Even though a spark of heat had ignited in the pit of my stomach, I was able to calm it for another time; I wasn’t in a rush to take Arthur before he was ready. My heart was fluttering in my chest and my lips were tingling at the remembered weight of Arthur’s dry lips pressed to my own. I wanted to keep kissing – never stop – but instead I wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer. Arthur curled up closer without protest, tucking his head beneath my chin and twining our legs together.

 

He sighed contently again – a sound I hadn’t heard in over a year – and kissed my neck affectionately. Then we both yawned and fell asleep, back where we belonged.

 

The next morning when we woke up, Arthur was still curled up against me in my arms. I could tell he was awake first, feeling his pulse flying under my palm. I knew I could pull away and we could brush the kiss off as a simple mistake caused by Arthur’s loneliness in solitary. But I didn’t want to brush it off. I had realized during my two weeks alone what, exactly, Arthur meant to me. Not that I hadn’t known before, of course; but I had finally accepted the truth for myself. And even though I knew it was the stupidest mistake of my life, knew this could only last for another two years at the most, I wanted Arthur in every way I could.

 

So I began drawing random designs on Arthur’s back to let him know I was awake, smiling lightly at the pleasant shiver that passed through his body at the touch. Arthur pulled his head back slightly to meet my gaze, probably nervous that I’d tell him how wrong last night had been. But I just leaned forward and pressed my lips to his again, allowing our mouths to lock together slowly, sweetly. Arthur’s eyes widened before they fluttered closed, and I allowed mine to slide closed as well when Arthur leaned up into the kiss.

 

Our lips fit together like two puzzle pieces, remaining still for a few breathless moments before we began to move. Neither of us paid any mind to the stale taste of our mouths; we were too caught up in this novel sensation we had been holding ourselves back from for years. Feeling brave and impatient, I brushed my tongue questioningly along Arthur’s bottom lip, seeking entrance. Arthur groaned into my mouth and parted his lips, winding his fingers into my hair and pressing closer as I delved my tongue in.

 

Arthur tasted strongly of the stale bread they fed him in solitary, but there was a stronger hint of his natural taste as our tongues brushed curiously. But in my mind, he tasted perfect; like everything I had imagined over the years. He allowed me to explore his mouth lazily, my tongue touching delicate skin before we pulled away for breath. Once we had both caught our breath, our cheeks flushed and our eyes bright, I wrapped my arms tighter around his body and rolled us until he was on top of me.

 

We pressed our mouths together again, hurriedly now as our addiction grew. Arthur’s knees were digging into the mattress on either side of me, his cock half hard as he pressed it against my stomach. My own throbbing length pressed up against Arthur’s hot thigh, both of us turned on but too focused on our mouths to move onto anything else. Arthur wasn’t rutting himself against me, but he was pressing his body to mine like a lack of contact would hurt him. All I could do was wrap my arms around him and pull him closer still.

 

I loved the feeling of Arthur being on top of me – just _being_ there. I could feel his heartbeat against me, neither of our rhythms matching up. It was like two dancers too frenzied and caught up in the music to meet in the middle of the dance floor, but enjoying the dance anyway. I could also feel his quick breath, his chest rising and falling against mine and breath fanning across my face through his nose when we refused to pull apart.

 

Feeling brave now, I splayed one hand across Arthur’s ass, searching for a little more pressure between our growing erections. My other hand teased at the hem of his shirt, causing Arthur to gasp into my mouth and arch against me when I caressed the bare skin of his lower back; my fingers touched like feathers. Wanting more though, and encouraged by the fact that Arthur was not fighting these intimate touches, I slipped my hand fully beneath his shirt.

 

We had always made sure that clothes stayed on. So except for the few inches of exposed skin across Arthur’s body, his smooth skin was new to me. And I knew immediately that I could add Arthur’s warm skin to my growing list of addictions. I ran my hand up his arcing back before skimming over each tensed shoulder blade, effectively bunching up his shirt though neither of us seemed to notice or care.

 

Arthur was the one with his tongue in my mouth now, curious and eager. I only interrupted him once for a series of quick, butterfly-light kisses. I could feel Arthur smiling against my lips as we met again, which caused my own lips to curl upward. Soon our teeth were almost brushing with how much we were grinning, but we still didn’t want to stop.

 

It was only the sound of the bars sliding away and the first shout for roll call that startled us apart. Arthur pulled away, eyes wide and cursing under his breath as he moved to get off the bed. Feeling my body jolt unpleasantly at the sudden loss of Arthur’s closeness, I snagged his wrist and pulled him back down to the mattress. I silenced his protests with another slow, deep kiss, both of us lying on our sides facing each other.

 

Arthur began the impossible task of attempting to pull off the bed while still keeping our mouths attached. For another greedy moment I placed my hand softly but solidly on the back of his neck, our lips pressed together like a memorable freeze frame.

 

Then I pushed him away lightly, a dazed smile on my lips. Arthur flashed me a similar smile in return, his gorgeous eyes lit up by the morning sun and dancing. His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed. After sending me one final hungry look, Arthur rushed to pull on a new set of clothes and rush out to join the line of prisoners. I made sure Arthur went first since screws were usually more attentive of people they had just been forced to release from punishment.

 

I waited a moment before changing and joining Arthur in line, not needing us to draw extra attention by rushing out together. I was thankful for the bagginess of our pants when I joined the prisoner line before the guard had to shout at me a second time. It hid the bulge of both of our erections, though it didn’t make walking any less uncomfortable as we shuffled to the dining hall for breakfast. Although I wanted to take advantage of my arousal, it had faded by the time we were allowed to the washrooms. Judging by the sour look Arthur had before being sent to work, he had experienced a similar disappointment.

 

In the long run it didn’t really matter though; we made up for it later. And needless to say, we rarely slept apart after that.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It changed when sex turned to love.

 

Frustratingly enough, it took us nearly a month to find an opportunity to really explore our new relationship. As the weather grew more reasonable, the warden had prisoners out doing hard, cheap labour more and more. Sometimes I actually got to work the same jobs as Arthur, though that just made it more tempting to sneak away into a nearby field or orchard to reclaim him.

 

I renewed my mark on his neck the night after Arthur got out of solitary confinement; that had led to our first encounter of sucking one another off simultaneously. But after that we usually returned to our cells at night, curled up, kissed because we could, and fell asleep before we could do more.

 

Finally though, one night after we had both returned to our less demanding jobs, we refused to wait another minute.

 

We stepped into our cell side by side, both of us seeming to realize that this was the night. We stepped out of the view of the cell on the opposite side of the cellblock, lying down on the mattress side by side slowly. I brushed some hair out of his eyes gently. I wondered silently if there was a connection between my increased touching of Arthur’s hair and his silent agreement to grow it longer. It was a little past his ears now and Arthur let out an adorable humming noise as I petted it.

 

Arthur leaned into my touch, eyes closed for a while; we were in no hurry. I lost track of time, but eventually Arthur blinked his eyes open and smiled at me blissfully. We were both still so awed and over-sensitized to these new sorts of touches, like newborns discovering a vibrant, beautiful new world.

 

The mattress dipped down as Arthur shuffled closer to be against my side, my mark on his neck just beginning to fade away until the start of the next month. I felt his mouth on my jaw, lips brushing as he spoke sinfully delicious words into my ear. “Make love with me, Eames.”

 

“Arthur,” I groaned into his hair, feeling my whole body reacting to my friend’s – to my _lover’s_ – words. I had wanted this for so long; wanked to the thought of it so many times. Technically I had been fucking him for over a year, but this was different.

 

The touches were intimate and allowed to portray formerly forbidden emotions and feelings. We only had to be quiet because of the prison around us, not to hold back any accidental statements or declarations. And there was so much more trust between us now; we no longer had to act like we didn’t care about the other’s pleasure.

 

I stripped Arthur slowly, throwing his clothes to the prison floor before working on my own. Arthur’s fingers joined in, tugging at the fabric of my shirt while I fumbled with my pants. When everything was discarded and forgotten, I manoeuvred myself on top of Arthur, only holding up some of my weight; it was almost embarrassing how aroused I felt at just having our naked skin pressed together.

 

Arthur and I both stared at each other for a long time, eyes and fingers roaming. This was the first time I had seen Arthur fully naked in a place where I could actually do something about it; changing in the morning and showering with a group didn’t really lend itself to any proper opportunities. Of course, even if we had had the opportunity, our unspoken rules and boundaries had denied us this.

 

Now though... Now I was allowed to touch and stare, and Arthur was allowed to smile and sigh and whimper.

 

I kissed every inch of Arthur’s skin I could reach. Even if the location wasn’t considered particularly sexy, everything was tantalizing to my eyes. The sensation of kissing Arthur all over was made even better by the feel of my friend’s fingers exploring the planes and dips of my body.

 

I kissed his forehead, his cheek, his jaw under his ear.

 

I kissed his neck and collarbone and that little hollow of his throat.

 

I kissed his shoulder, wrist, palm, and the inside of his arm.

 

I had only made it halfway down his body when Arthur began whining and thrusting against my strategically-placed thigh. I quieted him playfully with a heated, heady kiss, leaving him a little dazed on the blankets below me. Then I moved down to suckle each nipple – jolting Arthur out of his haze with a moan – and continued downward.

 

I kissed the bump indicating Arthur’s lowest rib, and then the side of his hip. I got distracted for a while dipping my tongue into his navel, only moving onward when Arthur chuckled breathily as the lights went out for the evening. “You love it,” I warned him, nipping his pelvic bone as I purposefully skipped Arthur’s swollen shaft.

 

“Eames...” Arthur growled, trying to sound dangerous but just making my head spin with desire. It was a challenge to continue on, but I kissed his inner thigh tenderly, lips touching sweaty skin just below Arthur’s balls. He keened quietly into the air as I kissed the back of his knee, ankle, and the sensitive skin on the top of his foot.

 

Finally I couldn’t wait any longer – hips already grinding down against the mattress – and moved back up to reclaim Arthur’s lips. There was so much I wanted to say to him as our lips reconnected, moving together easily like a practiced, beloved dance. But I still didn’t dare to speak the words burning my tongue as it wound around Arthur’s own. I was still terrified for my doomed heart when Arthur left prison in a little under two years.

 

I forced myself to refocus on the current situation, on the feel of Arthur beneath me and kissing my breath away. I had to enjoy this while it lasted and commit each second to memory.

 

We kissed for a long time, riling our bodies up unnecessarily. Our lips melded together as our bodies began their own unplanned dance, our cocks pressed together with nothing between them. Arthur’s precome smeared on my stomach as mine did on his, and soon we had to pull away before we fell over the edge too soon.

 

I grabbed one of our pillows – both of ours on my bunk these days – and pulled Arthur’s hips up slightly to slide the pillow underneath. Arthur gave me a questioning look when I pushed him up the bed slightly before pulling away. I didn’t explain though, instead enjoying the way his eyes darkened when he watched me lie down with my head between his thighs.

 

Whenever we had fucked before, I had never allowed myself to get too personal. That included, in my mind, using my mouth to prepare Arthur. I had always used our building precome and saliva to lubricate my friend before this. It worked, but a lot of it dried on your hand while you manipulated skin, making it difficult to create enough build up to really ease the pain.

 

This night I was determined and excited to do everything possible to make this encounter painless. I swept my tongue up the clef of his ass teasingly before nosing at the underside of his balls, sucking at one and then the other. A desperate little whine was building in the back of Arthur’s throat as he shifted down against my mouth.

 

Both of us grew impatient shortly thereafter, and I placed my palms on Arthur’s inner thighs to spread him further. I stared at his red puckered hole for a moment, which was already clenching in anticipation with his arousal. “Eames, please...” Arthur begged softly when I hovered there without moving, spurring me into action.

 

Readjusting my hands to spread his pale cheeks, I pressed my tongue against Arthur’s hole. A hiss escaped through Arthur’s teeth. I had never done this before so my movements were hesitant and light as I licked him a few times. At the same time, I held one hand out towards Arthur, speaking against his skin, “Suck.”

 

Arthur leaned forward to reach my hand partway down the bed, and when he took three of my fingers into his mouth I nearly came. His swirling tongue and the suction of his mouth had me remembering all of our wonderful blowjobs, and I fucked the mattress weakly. To refocus on my current task, I built up some spit and then speared my tongue into Arthur’s hole.

 

Arthur’s mouth fell away from my fingers as he moaned, falling back against the second pillow. I moved my now-slick fingers back down and pressed them in before the spit could dry. Arthur gasped my name into the air as two of my fingers pushed in and my tongue moved over his stuffed hole. His heels dug into the bed as he angled up against my mouth, slipping slightly as the blankets became moist with sweat – I was occasionally grateful that I worked in laundry.

 

I recoated my fingers and sunk all three in next. My mouth and tongue were busy covering Arthur with as much saliva as I could manage. Arthur reached down for my hair but gave up and gripped the sheets instead. “Come on, Eames...” he keened quietly, “I want all of you. Please...”

 

How could I deny a request like that?

 

I pulled away and crawled up the bed, straddling Arthur’s shoulders. He took my cock into his mouth without another word, hurried and impatient and just _moaning_ around me. I had to grip the metal bed frame above me to keep from shoving my whole length to the back of Arthur’s throat; I wouldn’t survive it.

 

With my free hand I carded fingers through soft black hair as Arthur hollowed his cheeks. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me,” I informed Arthur, trying to catch my breath. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

 

I had to pull my cock from that skilled mouth when Arthur looked up and met my gaze, eyes half lidded. I reached for Arthur and he reached for me at the same time. We met halfway, our lips colliding harshly. It was a quick kiss, fast and passionate before we pulled away jerkily. We were both breathing hard, our gazes holding as I moved back down Arthur’s body.

 

I positioned my cock – wet from Arthur’s mouth – at Arthur’s entrance and pushed in steadily. I watched my partner’s face until I bottomed out, relishing in all the little emotions flickering across that normally-calm face. I couldn’t believe we had been fucking for over a year and yet I had never watched his face before now.

 

Only one pinched look of pain crossed Arthur’s face before it faded away to heated arousal. “Good, darling?” I questioned, not wanting to move before Arthur was ready.

 

Arthur’s eyes flashed open to meet mine, lips parted slightly. “You know it is,” he retaliated, making me smile. “Now fuck me the way...” _You love me_ hung in the air silently between us, our eyes wide and bodies tense with expectation. But neither of us had the courage to say it. “The way you would if we weren’t in prison,” Arthur said finally.

 

I knew Arthur meant more by that than the simple thought of not needing to be quiet.

 

I gave a tiny nod. _The way I love you_ , I silently agreed. My lover leaned up and kissed me lightly one last time in agreement before falling back to the mattress.

 

I began off slow and careful, sinking into Arthur with the same pace I had used when getting to know him. Then my touches to his bare skin grew soft and tender, remembering how fragile Arthur had been after being raped. We stayed like that for a few minutes, memorizing and savouring everything.

 

Arthur’s fingers skimmed and danced across my sweaty chest after I batted his hand away from his swollen length. His eyes remained on me constantly, flickering between my eyes and body. His lips were swollen and red from kissing, and parted as Arthur whispered curses and my name into the air.

 

My fingers hooked under Arthur’s legs and drew them up to throw them over my shoulders, allowing me to thrust in balls deep at an angle that had my friend making little fucked out sounds on each exhale. After that I leaned forward slightly with my hands holding my weight up on either side of Arthur.

 

I kissed the parts of Arthur’s skin I could reach, loving as I buried my cock in harder, faster, deeper. “Just like this,” I promised Arthur softly, affectionate in my kisses but possessive and claiming in my thrusts. “This is the way...” _I love you_.

 

Arthur nodded frantically and kissed my forearm as he began to buck up and meet each thrust. The bed was squeaking below us and a few prisoners in nearby cells were cat calling, but we barely noticed or cared. We were close, riding each other’s bodies towards the finish line.

 

“When you come...” I huffed against Arthur’s skin, breath lost, “I want you to scream my name.”

 

Arthur tossed his head back and forth, half lost in his pleasure. “Can’t, you know that.”

 

“Trust me, darling,” I pleaded.

 

Arthur blinked his eyes open and nodded.

 

My cock was disappearing into Arthur’s body at a dizzying pace now, our skin slapping together noisily. It took two strokes to my partner’s cock before Arthur arched under me, near-violent as his body spasmed. I sealed my mouth over his just before he screamed my name, swallowing his shouts and moans and paying him back with my own drawn out groan of his name.

 

Our bodies continued rocking together for another minute, my stomach burning with Arthur’s come. My thrusts began to glide as I stained his insides white with my own sticky essence. It took a long time for us to calm down, and even longer for us to find the energy to pull apart.

 

I sprawled out across Arthur’s chest while I caught my breath, licking and sucking salty skin. When I found the energy, I slid down tiredly and cleaned Arthur up, the taste of our completions mixing on my tongue. Arthur seemed curious as well because he pulled me into a sloppy, open mouthed kiss when I was finished to taste for himself.

 

When I resettled on the mattress, my body plastered to Arthur’s side, my breath caught. Arthur was watching me solidly, clearly something on his mind as he pet my hair. I thought this would be it, the moment we finally threw all caution to the wind. I could barely breathe.

 

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, too,” Arthur whispered with a smile.

 

It wasn’t those three heavy words, but it didn’t matter. The message was the same, and spoken with the same affection and devotion. Our lips met tiredly, barely moving as we pressed together.

 

We both knew.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It changed when I got paroled.

 

When you get sent to prison with a life sentence – whether you’re guilty or not – you eventually come to see prison as your rather unfortunate home. At first you think you might be lucky and get out early on parole, but that hope withers pretty quickly. You still go to an interview occasionally to see if some haughty men in suits thought you were safe to let back out into society. But you never expected to be successful. It was just something to do, to break up the monotonous routine of prison life.

 

That was why, almost ten years to the day after I got put in prison with a life sentence, I wasn’t expecting any success to come of my parole meeting.

 

That didn’t mean I didn’t achieve success anyway.

 

They informed me that new information regarding my case had recently come up. Apparently someone had found substantial evidence proving Jacob had actually been the shooter and I just had shitty timing and friends. Apparently this evidence had been sent to ‘all the right people’, who had reviewed it thoroughly. Apparently Jacob confessed to everything when the police knocked on his out-of-the-way trailer door to ask him a few questions, just last week.

 

Apparently I was being released on parole as soon as everything could be verified and the proper papers signed. One month. I had walked into that room expecting to return to a life in prison, and I had walked out as an unofficially free man.

 

I was dazed. Then I was overjoyed. Then I was furious.

 

I found Arthur sitting alone in the yard. The other guys had work scheduled and would be waiting to hear news at dinner. He was sitting rather stiffly on the bench where I had first marked him. I approached him slowly, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I would be on parole in one month.

 

Arthur glanced up at me, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Why do you look so upset?” he asked me in what sounded like surprise.

 

I stopped mid-step, a few paces from the bench. “What do you mean?” I asked in confusion. Maybe I was a little more upset than usual, but no one would expect me to come out of a parole interview happy. Unless... My eyes narrowed. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

 

Arthur gave me an innocent look for a moment before allowing it to drop. “You’re welcome,” he snapped, not in anger but as a defence while he tried to understand my reaction. “I thought you’d be happy.”

 

“Not when it leaves you in prison alone for almost nine months!” I shot back, wincing when my voice carried a bit. I forced myself to sit on the bench rigidly, lowering my voice. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.” I had been steeling my mind and heart in preparation for losing Arthur permanently. On sure, we could visit during visiting hours and write, but I didn’t want that sort of relationship for Arthur. I had known I would need to give him up if I wanted him to be happy.

 

“Was I just a fling until I left?” Arthur hissed under his breath, eyes directed towards the ground. “Was I going to be replaced?”

 

“Don’t be a twat,” I snapped, voice sharp and low. “You know how much I love you!”

 

A silence that electrified the air fell between us. I closed my eyes, my face downturned to the trampled dirt. The parole meeting momentarily fell from my mind, replaced by fluttering nerves. The last time I had said those three words to someone, it was to my high school prom date. I had naively thought that if I said it, it would make it true and I’d stop noticing guys. I hadn’t understood what love was then, and neither had she. It had ended in tears shortly after when I got drunk and got caught sucking off her brother in the bathroom.

 

Now, years later, I knew what love was and had found someone I adored more than life itself – proven by the fact that I wanted to stay in prison just to stay with Arthur. And I had fucked it all up. I had made my declaration in an angry rush, overemotional at the thought of leaving Arthur.

 

Arthur sat beside me in silence for a long minute, not saying anything. Had I mistaken his feelings? Had I said it too soon? Only the sensation of Arthur taking my hand in his own on the bench seat calmed my fears. “I love you, too,” he whispered, voice happy and sad at the same time.

 

We had to pull apart then, the bell ringing for dinner. We walked close together, our shoulders brushing as we made our way to the dining hall. I told the guys that I was being released on parole and everyone got rowdy and loud. Everyone was happy for me and jealous at the same time, but they did their best to hide the latter.

 

It was on our way out of the dining hall that I sent Arthur along and pulled Dom and my closest friends aside. They all promised to watch over Arthur until his own release – Arthur only comfortable in the prison hierarchy because of his connection to me. The screws had remained angry with him since he had been put in solitary.

 

My fear still didn’t fade.

 

“Did you get sent to solitary for me, darling?” I asked him when we were alone again in our cell.

 

Arthur met my gaze before sitting down on the edge of the bed beside me. This time I took his hand in mine, mirroring our position from earlier that day. “I figured two weeks of solitary was worth your freedom,” Arthur said. He explained how he had sent mail out constantly since reading my file – which he had read after I told him my story.

 

He had gained quite a bit of information through the mail. And then when the information became too sensitive, Arthur had ‘borrowed’ the warden’s personal stationary to request that further inquiries be made. Since one of Arthur’s newer jobs included sorting mail when the library didn’t need work, he had been able to sneak the returning letters by.

 

“You are a wonder, love.” I kissed his temple in thanks, truly grateful even if I wasn’t entirely pleased with the outcome. “You shouldn’t have.”

 

“I didn’t even know if it would work, or how long it would take for some sort of result,” Arthur murmured almost to himself. “But of course I would,” he gave me a bit of a smirk then. “I wasn’t going to live life out there without you.”

 

“What about you though?” I worried.

 

Arthur didn’t need me to elaborate. “I’m sure you’ve already enlisted the guys to watch over me.” He snorted. “I’ll be okay. Nine months isn’t that long.”

 

“They can’t watch over you all the time,” I reminded him, voice still weighed down with concern.

 

“Eames,” Arthur used his free hand to cup my cheek and turn my face until I met his gaze. “I will be fine, I promise.” Our lips met softly for a moment and then my partner pulled away. “Now how about you show me some gratitude?” he suggested with a raised eyebrow before flopping back onto the mattress. I followed him down.

 

We made love that night, and every other night in our last month when we found the opportunity. The rest of our time we spent together as much as possible, inseparable except at the threat of solitary confinement for a week. Whenever we found a moment alone we would discuss what we would do with our freedom.

 

I told Arthur everything I wanted to do; things I had abandoned at the belief that I would never get out of prison. I wanted to act in a play, learn to play an instrument and travel the world. Arthur told me his plans for when he got out as well. He also wanted to travel, but he was interested in pursuing a career. He explained that he had heard something about working in dreams with the government – though he would have to work illegally after his jail time. Honestly it sounded like fantasy to me, though the idea was intriguing.

 

We also began to make plans for what we would do together in less than a year’s time. I wasn’t sure how we would get the money for everything, but we were sure we’d think of something with our skills. We would travel the world and make love on a beach at sunset. We would stargaze at night and go on road trips to obscure little villages. We would buy a house to call our own and become like an old married couple. We would fight and have make up sex and avoid chores.

 

All in all, we just wanted a normal life together.

 

Time had never passed faster than that month did. I’m pretty sure Arthur was trying to distract me from my fears. He was very good at his job. Before I even realized it, it was the night before my release. I had packed away the few belongings in my name and then stripped and pressed Arthur down into the mattress slow and hard.

 

We knew we wouldn’t really be given an opportunity to say a proper goodbye the next morning, so we had to do it that night. After we had gotten cleaned up and curled together under the blanket, we kissed for what felt like seconds and hours at the same time. We only pulled apart when I felt wetness on my face.

 

When I moved away further, I realized it was my own tears. Arthur raised a tender hand and brushed the tears away with a caressing thumb. “Will you visit me?” he questioned softly, looking like he was holding back his own tears but trying to not upset me further.

 

“Of course!” I exclaimed quietly in disbelief, shocked that he would think otherwise. “I’ll be the first one here on Monday next week,” I promised. I would have just lived in the visitor’s room for the next nine months if they’d let me. I wish they had more frequent visiting hours, but we’d have to live with it.

 

“You’re supposed to be happy leaving prison,” Arthur tried to chide me, though his voice breaking part way through ruined the tone.

 

We met again with a salty kiss, our tears mingling on our lips. “I love you, Arthur,” I proclaimed countless times against his mouth. Each time he said it back I just needed to say it again. And again. He needed to believe, needed to _know_ , because these nine months were going to drag.

 

At some point we fell asleep, and the next morning came far too soon. A guard banged a baton against the bars of our cell before roll call, jolting us awake. I was glad we had gotten re-dressed the night before, but I knew the guards had seen us spooning. Calvin was one of the guards there to escort me out, but when I tried to meet his gaze to ask for one last favour of watching over Arthur, he stared at the floor.

 

Swallowing thickly, I slipped off the bed slowly and grabbed my small duffle bag. A part of me thought I could delay this for nine months, or walk so slowly the screws got annoyed and just chucked Arthur out with me to save time. That didn’t happen though as they watched me without any displayed emotions.

 

“Take care of yourself, love,” I begged Arthur as we met for one final kiss; the screws were nice enough to grant us that. Arthur was seated on the edge of the bed, refusing to move quickly as well, so I knelt in front of him and pulled his face down to mine. “I love you,” I added against his lips.

 

He nodded and kissed back. “Same,” he choked on a sob, which had both of our eyes blurring with tears. It was hard to speak, hard to swallow, hard to breathe. “We’ll see each other again,” he reminded both of us, though it didn’t seem to matter right then.

 

I leaned up for another kiss and heard an impatient sigh behind me. “Alright, wrap it up,” one of the screws - not Calvin - said. Arthur pushed me away before we could get in trouble and I straightened stiffly. “Time to go,” Calvin pressed when I remained standing in place.

 

“I know,” I brushed my face clear of tears and followed them out of the cell. Arthur followed me to the door and I watched him standing there watching me until we turned a corner and he fell from my sight.

++++++++++++++++++++

#

++++++++++++++++++++

It ended a week later when I read the newspaper.

 

I was in my very best suit. And by that I mean my only and rather shabby suit. Actually, it was the one I had been wearing in court the day they sentenced me to prison ten years ago. The grey fabric was worn, a little short at the cuffs, and a little tight around my biceps. I had a paisley button-up shirt underneath that I knew Arthur would hate, but I really had nothing else.

 

I was dressed up because I was going to visit Arthur that day. I was so nervous and impatient and excited. It had only been a week since my release, but it had already felt like a lifetime. I didn’t know how I was going to drag myself through another night months of life without my partner.

 

I had kept busy throughout the week, trying to keep my mind away from wondering how Arthur was doing. I had been led to a tiny apartment in a halfway house after being released; I guess, even though I had been wrongly accused, they were worried prison had turned me into a criminal. Kind of ironic, that. But I was shown the room and my first thought was that I’d need to upgrade the bed to a double in preparation for Arthur.

 

The other tenants kept to themselves, which was fine by me. I barely remembered how you should begin a conversation with a normal person; in prison you usually started off with your crimes. I didn’t think “Hi, I’m Eames. I was sent to prison for murder but I swear I’m innocent” would go over too well.

 

I was also kept busy by the job I had been set up with. I was put to work doing laundry at a nearby hotel. You’d think they could give me a bit of a change but I didn’t really care; at least I got paid for my work now. Some of my other co-workers were chatty as well, which made work less tedious. Their backgrounds were usually shadier than mine and we got along well enough.

 

Life outside of prison was very different though, and I was really struggling to adjust. I hadn’t learned to cook much before going to prison so I made simple meals now – I didn’t have the money to afford burning things anyway. It was extremely lonely sitting at the small desk by my window; I was used to Arthur by my side and the guys around us.

 

The hardest was definitely the nights though. I would strip out of my newly bought clothes – I only had a few sets of everything until I saved up some money – and hung them in a closet that really looked sort of empty without Arthur’s clothes in there too. Then I would slide under the blankets and press my face to a clean pillow. And then I would lie there, unable to sleep, for hours.

 

I had never realized how loud prison was at night until I went to sleep in my tiny apartment. In prison people snored constantly, fought often, and yelled in their sleep frequently. In the halfway house people would occasionally fight or come in drunk off their face. But in general the silence was so oppressive I could barely stand it.

 

Even worse was the sensation – and knowledge – of lying down in bed without Arthur beside me. It wasn’t even about the sex, honestly. I mean, I missed that, of course, and had no intention of looking elsewhere for it. But I would give up sex for the rest of my life if I could just have Arthur curled up in my arms.

 

My thoughts also wandered more insistently at night. More vivid were my fears when there were no distractions. Arthur would likely have gotten another cellmate by now. What if he turned out to be like Rex? What if the guards decided they just didn’t care? What if the guys were distracted or lost their loyalty to their jealousy at my freedom?

 

I went half crazy in that first week, and cried into my pillow like a baby more than once.

 

It was all about today though – Monday – when I could see Arthur again. I could tell him all about my week and he could brush aside my fears. And I swear I was desperate enough to kiss that disgusting glass that would be between us just to get close.

 

I was already dressed and had the right change for the public bus to complete my journey set out. I had to force myself to sit at my little desk and munch on a tasteless muffin though since visiting hours didn’t start until ten. To keep myself busy I ran down to grab my mail. Sitting back down at my desk, my legs cramped under it, I sifted through the pile. The city’s newspaper caught my attention first because it was on top and because our prison’s name was in the headlines.

 

MURDER IN PRISON

 

My heart raced and my fingers trembled as they pulled apart sheets of paper to read the full story. People were killed in prison before, I told myself. This wasn’t anything to panic over. It was a large prison too; it could have been anyone.

 

But there, staring back at me and looking very annoyed at being photographed, was Arthur at the top of the column. The picture was old and Arthur still looked young – the picture was from before prison, before we met.

 

Tears were already spilling down my face as I attempted to read the article. I could barely read it, my eyes blurred and the pages shaking in my hands violently. And as I forced myself to continue reading I began to hyperventilate. Then I threw up on the carpet.

 

The article explained that some guys had cornered Arthur in the library late one night while he was finishing up shelving for the day. He had been found a short time later by the night patrol guard coming to take him back to his cell. But it had been too late by then. The wounds, the article said, were made to cause as much pain as possible. It hadn’t been a beating gone too far; they had meant to kill him.

 

The paper gave the guys’ names, since they had literally been caught red handed. Their hands were red with Arthur’s blood. I recognized the names too; they were some of Vince’s loyal lackeys. That was the problem with prison; you made lifelong enemies.

 

I took the time to shakily tear out Arthur’s photograph and shove it into my breast pocket before tearing the rest of the paper to pieces. I didn’t care what punishment the culprits were receiving, or where they were being transferred. Nothing would be enough.

 

I choked on a loud sob and vomited again, barely bringing in enough oxygen to breathe. My eyes and nose burned as tears streamed down my face. I hardly noticed the taste of salt as I breathed in my tears, choking on them again. My heart was trying to break free of my chest and my whole body was quivering as it tried to expel my heart with more vomit. It was like my whole body was rebelling, trying to rip itself to shreds so it wouldn’t have to feel this pain any longer.

 

I moved to sweep the rest of my breakfast and mail to the floor, wondering if destruction would make it hurt less. But an envelope, neatly addressed to me, stilled my hand. When I saw the return address for Arthur I didn’t know what to do. Had Arthur somehow faked his death and escaped? I couldn’t even allow myself to hope.

 

I tore open the envelope and brushed my fingers over the delicate swirls of Arthur’s writing, precise but oddly expressive. I began to read:

 

_Dear Eames,_

_I miss you. Yes, I am writing that on paper so you can hold it against me forever. But it’s true. Prison just isn’t the same without you. I know prison is supposed to be horrible – teaching me a lesson and all that – and that I shouldn’t complain. But I do miss you terribly. It’s odd not having you around._

_I got a new cellmate yesterday. His name is Liam and he is thinner than me. He cried all night and I have no idea what to say to him. I don’t even know what he’s in for. I kept the bottom bunk; I didn’t want to come back at night and see someone other than you lying there, you know?_

 

It was around then that I had to stop reading. I was crying so hard the ink in front of me was an indistinguishable blur. I knew Arthur had cried when writing this letter. I know that sounds odd, but I could just tell that the smudges of ink were from tears and not a misplaced thumb.

 

Also, it seemed clear that this wasn’t a sneaky letter informing me that he had escaped and was waiting for me on some faraway beach. The letter was dated from just a few days after I left prison, and there was no indication of this being anything more than a simple letter.

 

I forced myself to calm down enough to finish reading because these were Arthur’s last words to me – even if that hadn’t been his intention. I would never again hear his voice or even see his neat writing.

 

_Time keeps passing but it’s slower now. Obviously I’m still working and I still eat meals with the guys. But it’s not the same. You wouldn’t believe how many carrots I’ve been forced to eat. And even though I actually have room in bed now, I’d rather have you here. Even though it’s close to summer, the sheets still feel cold. It’s hard to sleep._

 

There were a few scribbled out lines before Arthur’s writing began again:

 

_I think I might have made a mistake in getting you out of prison first. I think I should have waited and gone through everything when I was out. I was scared though. I didn’t know how I’d manage alone in the real world without you for so long. I figured you’d be stronger. But some guys have been making things difficult. I wouldn’t worry so much since they’re just being a nuisance and your friends are watching over me, but I recognize them. They’re the ones who helped Vince, and your guys can’t always be around._

_I try not to worry as much as you do, but I wanted to write to you anyway. Just in case something does happen, there’s something else I want you to have written proof of, because you need to know it._

_I love you._

_You are amazing and you make me so happy. You even make me not regret getting sent to prison._

_Anyway, I’m probably overreacting. We can laugh about how ridiculous I sound when you visit on Monday. I hope all is well for you out in the real world._

_Yours always,_

_Arthur_

 

I couldn’t tell you how long I sat there with Arthur’s final words to me in my lap. Long past the point I would have left to catch the bus for the prison, at least. But there would be no busses to the prison anymore, no visits on Mondays. Never again would I see Arthur and his small smiles, or hear his voice or feel his lips and body against mine.

 

It was all just...gone. Over.

 

All I had been looking forward to involved Arthur. When he got out of prison and we christened the room with our reunion. When we traveled the world. When we watched the stars. When we fell into a comfortable, happy routine. There was nothing to look forward to now.

 

Arthur was gone.

 

Eventually I folded up Arthur’s letter and placed it in my pocket alongside his photo. Then I cried more, loud and lamenting, until my body grew too tired and dehydrated. My face was a mess and I was dizzy with pain from my headache and acid-burned throat.

 

I waited until my eyes became less red and puffy before grabbing my wallet. I dumped my quarters for the bus back into the leather pouch before heading outside. The man at the hardware store was looking at me oddly when I wandered down the aisles, so I bought an extra ten feet of rope. Money wouldn’t mean anything to me shortly anyway.

 

When I arrived back home, I set the rope on the desk and sat down again. I watched the world go by outside of my window for a while, genuinely contemplating whether I’d be able to continue on by myself. How do people do it? It feels like there’s a gaping hole in my chest from when Arthur was taken away from me; he always had been the rightful owner of my heart.

 

I pulled out the letter again and read it a dozen times. Soon I knew it by heart, though I still read each of Arthur’s words again and again because they were _his_. Next I pulled the photograph from my pocket, cradling it in the palm of my hand. I realized that this was the only picture I actually had of Arthur; my cellmate, my friend, my lover, my partner. Everything else was locked away carefully in my memories.

 

The day I had been released from prison, the first thing I bought was a notepad, pen and envelopes to write Arthur. Remembering this, I pulled the pen and paper out and began writing this. I couldn’t honestly tell you why. My family is gone and the only person who means anything to me is dead. I don’t even know if anyone will read this – I suppose it’s probably the longest suicide note to date – but if they do read it, I doubt they’ll care.

 

I think I just wrote it to remember everything. To relive my years with Arthur before the end, because they were the years worth remembering. I can still see it all clearly in my mind, each moment that made my life worthwhile.

 

The rope is waiting for me, ready for me to tie the correct knot and hand my life over to its capable grip. Arthur’s letter and photograph have been returned to the breast pocket of my obnoxious paisley shirt. It’s where Arthur belongs, right over my heart.

 

It’s where he will always be.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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